Finding Out

Ron Butterfield had been on his way to lunch when he got the call: Thunderchief – Double Jeopardy. His first responsibility, of course, was to The President of the United States. But Ron knew full-well that anytime the President's best friend was in danger, so was he. He strode into the Oval Office with FBI Special Agent Mike Casper right on his heels.

"Mr. President, we've crashed the building," he announced.

President Josiah Bartlet rolled his eyes at his Head of Security. "Oh criminey, what now?" he said as he glanced down at the folder on his desk. It was the third time this month they had been locked-down. He knew that Ron had a job to do, but this whole thing was getting a little old.

"Mr. President," Ron began, "There's been a shooting at an elementary school in Alexandria. Clearlake Elementary School . . ." The President's head shot up at the name as Ron saw the recognition in his boss' eyes. Butterfield looked as grim as Jed had ever seen him. That wasn't a good sign. "A teacher and her friend were hit . . ." There was no easy way to say this. "Sir," he continued as evenly and calmly as possible, " . . . it's Leo's daughter."

Jed swallowed hard and stared at the connecting door to his best friend's office. "Go get him," he ordered.

Ron nodded and headed to Leo's office, leaving Mike to explain the rest. He knocked, then stepped through the door and watched as Leo McGarry rifled through a seemingly endless pile of papers on his desk. He was obviously looking for something without much success. "Leo, I need to see you."

"Yeah, you and forty-seven other people." Leo continued to shuffle the documents, trying to find the long-missing Clemmons file. He had just about reached his limit with this whole mess, but hadn't intended on being quite so terse with the man standing in his doorway. "Sorry, Ron. What do you need?"

"We need to talk in the Oval Office," he replied.

"Margaret!" Leo bellowed. In her office, Margaret silently wondered if her boss would ever learn to use the intercom, but she knew the answer to that one. As always, she appeared at the door. "Margaret, where is the Clemmons file?"

"I told you, I put it on your desk half an hour ago. Unless you moved the thing, it should still be there," came the answer.

Leo was becoming more agitated by the second. "I did not move it because it is not on my desk," he denied.

"Yes, in fact, it is."

"No, it's not! I've looked on my desk and if it was on my desk, I would have found it."

Margaret walked from the door, flashed a patient smile as she moved two newspapers, picked up the missing file from beneath them, and handed it to him.

Leo reluctantly took the file from his assistant. "Tell me again why I haven't fired you," he grumbled.

"Because you'd never be able to find your files," she responded.

"At this point, I don't consider that a deterrent," he muttered under his breath.

"Leo, in the Oval?" Ron insisted.

He opened and scanned the file. "I'll be right there."

"Now, Sir."

Ignoring Ron for the moment he asked, "Margaret, did you ever find Josh?"

"No," she admitted.

"Find him, get him in this office. I have something to discuss with my Deputy."

"Leo! Right now." Ron was getting impatient.

He looked up at the Chief of Security for the first time. Ron's face rarely betrayed what he was feeling, but at this moment, his face was an open book. Leo had only seen this look once, just before he was told that the President's youngest daughter was missing, and there was a dead agent at the scene. His eyes never left Ron's face. "I'm next door, Margaret. Tell Josh to wait for me."

"Yes, Sir."

Leo laid the file back down on his desk and followed Ron back through the connecting doors to the Oval Office where The President and Mike were waiting. "Leo, you remember FBI Agent Casper?"

"Of course," he said extending hand. "Mike, what's going on?"

Mike shook the proffered hand and simply nodded. He wasn't comfortable in the Oval Office under normal circumstances. What he had to say to Leo McGarry was going to make it that much harder.

"Leo, there's been an incident at an elementary school in Alexandria," Ron began.

"What kind of incident?" he asked.

Ron glanced at the FBI agent and nodded. "A man armed with a military issue handgun walked into the school and shot a teacher and her friend," Mike continued.

"We're unsure of the shooter's whereabouts," Ron added.

"Any kids hurt?" Leo, the President noted, was as always thinking of those who couldn't protect themselves.

"No. All of the kids and the rest of the staff were unharmed, though the main office staff were locked up for a time." Mike shifted on his feet and looked away . . . this wasn't going to be easy.

"Hold it," Leo began to get an uneasy feeling as he noticed the sudden change in body language. "Why are you two telling me about this?" he asked Mike.

Taking a deep breath, the agent began, "Mr. McGarry . . ." He paused and shot a glance at the President, but the normally talkative Bartlet remained quiet. Mike knew a bit about these two and their long history of friendship. They had known each other for more than 40 years - they'd gone to battle for, and with, each other more times than anyone was aware, of that he was certain. If this had to be said, maybe it was better coming from his long-time friend.

Leo caught the look that passed between the two men. Suddenly, the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end. "Mike," he said cautiously, "what school are you talking about?"

"Sir . . . ," the agent glanced from Leo to the President and back several times, then gave up and looked at the floor.

Finally acquiescing to Mike's indecision, Jed Bartlet stepped forward and faced Leo. Lifting his chin slightly, he looked directly into his best friend's eyes. "Leo . . .," he said quietly, "it's Mallory."

Leo stared at Jed for a long time before he spoke. Slowly, he shook his head, "Can't be. I just talked to her less than an hour ago." Jed held out his hand and took a step toward his friend, but Leo backed away. "No! There's been some kind of mistake! She's on her way to Dulles, she's headed to a conference in Orlando," he reasoned. "She's supposed to receive the National Teacher of the Year Award tomorrow! I mean, come on, I just talked to her and she said . . ." Leo stopped short as the conversation he had with Mallory replayed in his mind. Slowly, the blood drained from his face. "Oh, no," Leo choked out. "Mallory forgot her speech. She had to turn around and go back to the school to get it." He turned away, unmoving, staring out the window as reality finally hit him. "Oh, my God," he whispered.

"According to the secretary at Clearlake, Mallory and her friend, an Air Force Lieutenant Jonathan Wilcox, went to her room to get her speech," Mike continued quietly. "They were on their way out when the gunman stopped them. Your daughter assumed he was a parent who wanted to talk with her, because she asked him to leave his name with the secretary. When she and her friend started around the gunman, he opened fire."

"Mike, please. Please tell me this is a bad joke," Leo pleaded.

"I'm sorry Mr. McGarry." Talking with a victim's family had always been one of the hardest parts of his job. "We have a team at the site. They've spoken with Lieutenant Wilcox and will keep us informed of their progress."

Slowly, Leo turned to face the room. He dreaded the answer to the question he was about to ask, but swallowed hard and whispered, "Mike, is she alive?"

"Yes, Sir. In fact, she's the one who called 911. From the EMT's description though, she's been shot in the shoulder and leg, and was bleeding pretty heavily." At the sight of Leo McGarry's tortured face, the agent added, "Sir, she did have a message for you."

"What did she . . . what . . . ?" Leo choked out.

Mike deferred to the President one more time. Jed moved to Leo's side and put a supporting hand on his shoulder. "She said . . . " He stopped as the words caught in his throat. "She said, 'Tell my Dad that I love him, and . . . I won't give up.'"

Tears welled in Leo's eyes, blurring his vision as the words he had said to his daughter such a short time ago were repeated back to him. "I have to go to her," he whispered.

"You can't," Ron said.

"I have to," Leo insisted, wiping the back of his hand across his tear-filled eyes.

"Leo, you can't go," the President said.

Determined, he started toward the door. "I'm going."

"No, you're not," Ron said as he grabbed at Leo's jacket sleeve. "Leo, listen to me. The scene is not secure."

"I don't give a damn, Ron!" he spat as he broke the agent's tight grip.

"Listen, everything that can be done is being done. You showing up there will only complicate things," Ron said.

Leo stopped and turned back to the agent. "Why? What aren't you telling me?"

Ron exchanged glances with the President, who nodded. He took a deep breath, "He wants you."

"What do you mean, Ron?" Leo said as he glanced back at the President.

There was no easy way to say this. Ron looked at Mike, but he hesitated. "Leo, it appears that Mallory was specifically targeted to get to you." He continued, "She told the 911 operator to warn you that the shooter said he was coming after you."

His resolve firmly in place, Leo said, "Then let's go. The longer we wait to give him what he wants, the longer Mallory lays in there bleeding."

"The building is in lock-down. No one goes in or out," Ron insisted.

"We're talking about my child, Ron!"

"And that's why you can't go. Leo, please. We have a name and we're working to find this guy."

"He'll kill her!" he shouted as he started for the door again. "I'm going."

"Look, the EMT's are with her now, and we don't know if this guy's still in the area, just waiting for you to show up." Ron tried to reason with the President's best friend, "Leo, look at me. You absolutely can not go."

Ignoring the warning, Leo turned as he and Jed matched stride for stride to the door.

The President blocked his path with one hand, and gripped Leo's left arm with the other. "Leo, wait!"

At the touch of the hand, a scream of anguish emanated from deep within the White House Chief of Staff, "NO!" Leo whirled around and grabbed the President's shirt, his arm cocked, ready to pummel the Leader of the Free World.

"LEO!" Ron shouted.

No one breathed as the enraged White House Chief of Staff stopped short, catching the look in his best friend's eyes. Jed didn't have the quickest reflexes in the world, but he surely could have tried to duck. He didn't so much as flinch. Somewhere in the back of Leo's mind, he became aware that his right arm was rigid, and had begun to shake uncontrollably. Leo gasped as he realized what he had almost done. He slowly turned to look at the clinched fist that Ron now held firmly in his grasp. Consciously willing himself to do so, Leo unclenched the offending hand, and lowered it as a tremor shot through his body. He turned back to the President, and searched his face as Ron carefully released his grip on Leo's fist and collar. Slowly, Leo's left hand relaxed its death grip on his friend's shirt, patting and smoothing out the rumpled fabric, trying to erase any evidence that Leo Thomas McGarry had very nearly committed assault and battery against the President of The United States. "Oh, my God . . ."