The following takes place between 9:00pm and 10:00pm on January 6th, 2002, in Washington, DC unless otherwise noted.
Josh Lyman stood motionless on the sidewalk in front of Dr. Stanley Keyworth's apartment. The police officers had surrounded him, observing him carefully. Josh's expression morphed from shock, to sadness, to fear in record time. An older officer placed a kind hand on the younger man's shoulders and drew him back into reality.
"Mr. Lyman?"
Josh blinked a couple times, then made eye contact with the officer.
"Yeah."
"Are you all right?"
He frowned and nodded his head, albeit distractedly.
"Yeah. What…what happened?"
The officer took a deep breath before responding.
"Bullet through the head, bullet through the heart, a couple of mild stab wounds. Neither weapon could be found on the scene. No fingerprints."
"No leads?"
"Not a one. You got anything for us?"
Josh shook his head.
"No."
"Do you know if Dr. Keyworth had any known enemies?"
"He's a psychiatrist," Josh said. "All it takes is one suicidal, schizophrenic patient…"
The officer nodded.
"That's what we figured."
"What about the investigation?"
"We discovered the body less than forty-five minutes ago," the officer replied. "No plans for investigation yet."
"Who can I call?" Josh asked.
"Lieutenant Hopkins down at the precinct."
"Thank you."
Josh bowed his head and turned away from the older man.
"Hey, kid."
He whipped around.
"You sure you're okay to get back?"
"I'm fine!" Josh called back. "Thanks."
9:05 pm
A pensive silence fell upon the Roosevelt Room as the President slowly digested the rush of information that had been hurled at him in the last ten minutes. The directors of the CIA, FBI, and CTU had been briefing him further on the information previously expounded on by the Chairman of Joint Chiefs and the National Security Advisor.
"Although we can't be sure just yet, it looks like Crawford has told us everything he knows, sans the whereabouts of his wife," the CIA director, Walt Kaufman, said.
"We're to assume she's involved?" Jed questioned.
"Yes, sir," replied Rick Kayser, the director of the FBI. "Crawford's involvement would not have been likely were he not married to Colleen McGann. The fact that he came forward leads us to infer that Crawford was most likely a reluctant player in the whole scheme, probably coerced by his wife."
"Our best bet now is to locate Ms. McGann, as it is highly likely that she is still in the country," Ryan Chappelle, director of CTU District Headquarters, added.
"Is there a reason we're calling her Ms. McGann as opposed to Mrs. Crawford?" The President wondered.
"McGann never took Crawford's last name, for reasons we're not privy to. Family loyalty, pride, etc, are all fair assumptions," Kayser explained.
"Mr. President, there is also another matter to consider," Walt Kaufman interjected. "We've been toying with the possibility that the ten year marriage between Colleen McGann and Paul Crawford was orchestrated."
"You mean arranged?"
"Premeditated, yes, sir. It's frankly just too convenient that the daughter of an Irish terrorist is married to a prominent member of the NSA."
"Okay." Jed sighed. "What you're tellling me is that there is a conspicuous likelihood that the IRA has been planning an attack on U.S. soil for over ten years."
"Yes, sir, Mr. President. That is precisely what we're telling you."
Concealing the considerable anguish he felt, the President stood up and marched toward the closed door before turning back to them.
"Guys, I want Colleen McGann within the hour."
"Yes, sir. We're on it."
"Thank you."
With that, he was gone.
9:09 pm
President Bartlet walked briskly from the Roosevelt Room to the Oval Office without stopping to speak to anyone. When he reached the outer office, Debbie Fiderer had just run in from the portico entrance. She hunched over her desk, breathless.
"Debbie?"
"Yes, sir," Debbie replied, breathing leavily.
"You all right?"
"Probably not a good idea to try and outrun your ego, sir."
"Wise words," Jed agreed. "Did you call the First Lady by any chance?"
"More than that, Mr. President," Debbie said. "I just spent the last twenty-five minutes in the Residence."
Jed's face fell with concern.
"Is Abbey…?"
"She's fine, sir. In fact, Dr. Griffith is with her as well."
"Good." He nodded to himself. "I assume she told you…"
"Yes, sir. I came down to tell you that Dr. Griffith and I stood right beside her as she called Bethesda. They'll be taking her down before the hour is up."
Debbie smiled sympathetically as he breathed a sigh of utter relief.
"Thank you."
"Not a problem, sir."
"I'm gonna head up to the Residence for a few minutes, so just I can…"
"I understand, sir," Debbie replied. "I'll tell Leo."
Jed nodded gratefully then exited out onto the portico.
9:17 pm Baltimore, Maryland
Liz, Ellie, and Zoey stood in front of the window in the living room of Ellie's apartment and watched as a yellow taxi cab pulled up outside. Zoey's current boyfriend, Jean-Paul, hopped out of the cab and greeted the agents posted at the doorstep.
"You didn't tell us he was coming," Liz said in disbelief.
Zoey walked away from the window.
"I didn't know."
She opened the front door and waited as Jean-Paul ascended the stairs up to the top floor. A big grin spread across Zoey's face at the sight of him and she ran into his arms when he got close enough.
"What are you doing here?" She asked.
"I thought I'd surprise you and escort you home."
Zoey grinned and kissed him. When they separated, Jean-Paul nodded cordially to the agents and followed his girlfriend into Ellie's apartment. Liz and Ellie stood in the corner of the living room with their arms folded across their chests, appearing skeptical and resentful. Completely oblivious, Jean-Paul smiled brightly and greeted them happily.
"Elizabeth. Ellie."
They both continued to glare at him, until the stern look on their little sister's face convinced them to behave otherwise.
"Hello, Jean-Paul. Won't you sit down?" Ellie asked, graciously.
"You are quite the hostess, Ellie," Jean-Paul commented, seating himself on the couch, followed instantly by Zoey.
"Thank you," she replied through gritted teeth.
"So, Jean-Paul," Liz began, sitting in an armchair across from the chair. "What's your favorite color?"
He frowned.
"Excuse me?"
"I said, what's your favorite color?"
Zoey looked at her older sister quizzically, and Liz brushed it off.
"Uh…green, I guess?"
"Good choice. They say geniuses pick green. What's your favorite movie?"
"Liz…" Zoey said, warningly.
"Well, I like that film with…Keanu Reeves. The, uh…the…"
"The Matrix," Liz said. "Yes. My daughter's last boyfriend used to make her watch it constantly. Horrible movie. What about books? What's your favorite book?"
When he hesitated, Ellie asked, "Do you read, Jean-Paul?"
"I can most certainly read!" Jean-Paul exclaimed defensively.
"Oh, I have no doubt you can read, Jean-Paul, and I assume Ellie feels the same. The question was do you read, not can you read."
"I read. I read Le Monde every morning."
"I see," Liz said. "Ever read Dickens? Fitzgerald? Hemingway? Bradbury? Whitman? Browning?"
"Uh…"
"Okay."
Zoey pursed her lips and glared angrily at her sisters. They smirked and shrugged dismissively in return.
9:24 pm Washington, D.C.
When Jed entered his bedroom, he found Millicent Griffith lounging on the bed he shared with his wife. She sat up and smiled at him.
"Mr. President," she greeted him, casually.
"Dr. Griffith." He approached the bed. "I can't tell you how grateful I am that you're here."
Millie shrugged, though by the expression on her face, it was obvious she was touched by his appreciation.
"That's what best friends do."
"Millie?" Abbey shouted from inside the bathroom.
Millie touched Jed lightly on the shoulder and brushed past him.
"I'll be outside."
"Thank you."
The moment the door closed behind Millie, Abbey emerged from the bathroom, stopping in her tracks when she saw her husband instead of her best friend. She walked toward him slowly and he closed the gap between them.
"What's going on?" She whispered hoarsely.
He didn't want to talk about that. No way did he want to talk about that. But, if she did…
"The IRA."
"The Irish Republican…"
"Yeah."
"What the hell are they…"
"Plotting what I can only assume is an emotional attack on England by plotting against us," Jed said.
"An inadvertant attack." Abbey nodded solemnly to herself. "Unconventional, to be sure. Do you have any idea what they're planning?"
"It's shaping up to look like a bomb on U.S. soil. We don't know much at this point."
"I should stay then."
"No." Jed shook his head. "We don't have any concrete information yet. For all we know, our only lead could fall through. It could be a fluke. Everyone's on it. CIA, FBI, CTU, Homeland Security. There's no reason for you to stay. This thing'll be over before you know it."
"Jed…"
"Abbey, if I thought you were in any remote kind of danger outside the White House, I'd keep you here, you know that. Truth is, I'd feel safer with you out of town. I don't think they're planning an attack on Bethesda anytime soon."
"I won't be too long," Abbey replied, having decided that it was no use arguing with him. "Jed, just say the word, and I'll…"
"I don't want you worrying about this," Jed told her. "You have enough on your plate, and we have this under control."
"The IRA is plotting to attack this country, Jed. You don't have it under control."
He nodded compliantly.
"To be honest, there's not a lot I can do. I'm being continuously briefed, but there aren't a whole lot of decisions to make right now. I have to let the agencies do their jobs."
"And you're feeling a little helpless," Abbey assumed.
"Yeah."
She grasped his hand tightly.
"Listen, I know how hard this night is gonna be on you, alternating between fretting for the country and for me. You need to focus all of your attention and energy on the situation at hand, Jed, on the country. Not me. I just want to let you know that I understand if you're not the world's most attentive husband tonight. I don't expect you to be. All I'm saying is, don't try to spread yourself too thin."
He smiled gratefully, then cupped her face in his hands and kissed her.
"I love you so much."
She stroked his cheek and kissed him once more.
"And I love you. But enough of this. You have a job to do and I have a test to take."
9:37 pm
Josh Lyman passed through the gates of the White House, dazed and disillusioned. He was unnerved by the fact that he held such a high position in government, so capable and influential, and there was next to nothing he could do this time. His psychiatrist, his friend, had been murdered, by an unidentified offender and for reasons he could not even begin to contemplate, and he was forced to move along unperturbed.
He entered the lobby and stopped briefly in the doorway. Something was different. The atmosphere had changed since he left, and the mood was very different than his own. The movements of the staff was more frenetic than usual, more urgent. CJ slammed into him as he was walking to his office, and he was surprised when she breathed an audible sigh of relief.
"Where have you been?" CJ questioned. "You know it's ironic that the minute an international crisis strikes, you're nowhere to be found."
At that moment, Josh seriously ruminated upon whether or not to divulge where he had actually been. He wanted so badly to tell her, but the expression on her face explicitly told him that now was not the time. He did what anyone would do. He put on a front and denied any uncheck emotions.
"What's going on?"
"How can I put this simply? Let's see. Sinn Fein is attacking us. We don't know when and we don't know where."
"Sinn Fein? You mean the IRA and all that?" CJ nodded in response. "What the hell did we do to them?"
"You'll have to ask Brendan McGann for that one."
"Well." Josh sighed. "Nice of them to wait until after the holidays."
CJ grimaced.
"Josh."
"I'm just saying, I'd have enjoyed Hannukah a lot less if I thought a bomb could explode underneath my apartment at any minute."
"Yeah, 'cause I'm sure you're number one on their hit list."
Josh shrugged.
"You never know. I went to Ireland once and ate an English muffin. That kind of thing used to be enough back when good ole McCarthy was around."
"I don't know that the IRA spends too much time on the surveillance of American tourists' breakfast habits," CJ replied.
"There are few things I would put past the IRA."
"Josh, I'm not sure you appreciate the gravity of this situation."
"Well, I'm sorry, but it does sound a little ludicrous," Josh commented.
"I assure you, it is very, very real."
"CJ."
They turned around to find Carol standing nearby, tapping her foot.
"What's up?"
"I just got off the phone with Hogan," Carol said.
"What! Where is she? Is she okay?"
"She's on her way here now."
9:48pm
When the President returned to the Oval Office, his Chief of Staff was waiting for him. Debbie warned him of Leo's presence before he went inside. He stood up at first glimpse of his president, but was waved to sit down.
"Debbie said you were in the Residence."
Jed sat in the chair across from Leo and let out a sigh.
"Yeah."
"Anything I should be concerned about?" Leo asked.
"Abbey's on her way to Bethesda with Millie."
"Is she…?"
Jed shook his head.
"I don't know."
"What happened?"
"We found a cyst," he muttered under his breath.
Leo leaned in.
"What?"
"We found a cyst, on her breast."
As the information sunk in, Leo reclined back against the chair and looked down contemplatively.
"They're gonna do some tests?"
Jed nodded.
"Yeah."
"How is she?" Leo questioned.
"You know Abbey. She's the one comforting me. I gotta hand it to her, she puts on a damn good front. Although, I think she's kicking herself right now for not giving oncology more thought."
Leo cracked a smile.
"Leo, if ever there was a time when I needed you…"
"I'm here, Mr. President. I'm not going anywhere."
"Thank you," Jed said, genuinely grateful.
Leo nodded in response, then looked up when Debbie discreetly pushed the door open.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, sir. I've got Ryan Chappelle outside."
"Yeah, thanks."
Debbie stepped back out of the room and allowed the director of CTU to enter the Oval Offic for the first time in his life.
"Mr. President, Mr. McGarry."
"Have a seat, Ryan," Jed invited him.
"I'd better not, sir. I need to make this quick," he said, harriedly.
"What's going on?"
"Sir, Paul Crawford has just confirmed that the IRA has definite designs on an unidentified structure in the D.C. area."
Jed nodded slowly, absorbing the information. Suddenly, he stood and approached the door.
"Debbie!" He called out. "Get me Zoey's cell phone, now!"
"Yes, sir!"
Jed turned back to an expectant Leo and Chappelle.
"Don't let up on Crawford," the President told CTU's director. "I want you to extract every piece of information he's got, by any means neccesary. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"And tell Kayser that if I don't have a location for Colleen McGann in the next fifteen minutes…"
"He's got all his people on it, Mr. President."
"Sir?" Debbie called from the doorway. "Zoey on line one."
Jed walked over to his desk and picked up the phone, pressing it tightly to his ear.
"Sweetheart, I need you to stay where you are," he demanded of her. "Do not, I repeat, do not return the D.C. area under any circumstances."
9:59:57 9:59:58 9:59:59 10:00:00
