Hour Four
The following takes place between 10:00pm and 11:00pm on January 6th, 2002, in Washington, DC unless otherwise noted.
The President slammed the phone down onto the receiver, then turned to face the window, running his fingers through his hair. Ryan Chappelle stood motionless across the room until Leo McGarry nodded to him and he took his leave. Once Chappelle had left the room, Leo slowly approached the window.
"Sir," Leo said softly.
"Yeah."
"She's safe. Liz and Ellie are safe."
Jed nodded.
"I know."
Ron Butterfield tapped lightly on the door to the office before entering. Jed and Leo turned and met him in the middle of the room.
"Mr. President, there are a few things we need to discuss."
"Let's sit down," Jed said.
Jed and Leo seated themselves on the couch and Ron positioned himself across from them.
"Sir, protocol states that, at this time, it's best to get you out of the White House and up into Air Force One. When a threat is made on this city, there are a number of likely targets and the White House is, of course, number one on that list," Ron explained. "The White House may not be the target, but frankly, that's a risk we're just not willing to take."
"Well." Jed shook his head. "I am."
"Mr. President," Leo said in protest.
"Until we have confirmation that this building has been targeted, I am not leaving. The minute I set foot on Air Force One, it opens up a huge can of worms and opens the floor to questions we're not able to answer at this time. The moment C.J. says the words no comment' to a member of the press corps is the moment widespread panic takes over this country. And that's a risk I'm not willing to take."
"Sir, it's late at night. We can get you up there without alerting members of the press…" Leo said.
"I said no, Leo. Not until we have conclusive evidence that the White House is a target."
"Yes, sir."
"Let's round up the staff. I want to let them in on this."
10:04 p.m.
When Abbey's small motorcade pulled up outside the National Naval Medical Center in Bethesda, Maryland, there were numerous people in uniform waiting outside. The agents helped both Abbey and Millie out of the limosine and were met by the commanding officer of the center who led them into the lobby, which was already infested with agents. Inside the lobby, Admiral Hank Armstrong, Chief of Oncology at the hospital, rushed to greet the two women.
"Dr. Bartlet. Dr. Griffith."
Admiral Armstrong shook hands with both of them and led them away from the door so they could speak privately.
"Well." He grinned nervously. "It's not every day we have both the First Lady and the Surgeon General grace us with their presence. Nice to have you here. Unfortunate circumstances of course."
"Of course," Millie said.
"Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Admiral," Abbey stated. "I know it's late."
"It's not a problem, Dr. Bartlet. Not a problem at all."
"You'll be administrating the tests?" Millie asked.
"Yes, ma'am, along with a few assistants," Admiral Armstrong responded. "Now, if you'd like to follow me, I'll escort you to our oncology clinic where the tests will take place."
Abbey and Millie nodded and walked alongside the Admiral as he did exactly as he proposed.
"If you'll forgive me, I don't know the specifics of your case. I was told you made this appointment at the last minute and didn't divulge any significant information."
"No, I'm sorry. It was rather short notice," Abbey agreed. "Earlier this evening, I discovered a sizeable cyst on my left breast that I hadn't noticed before. I thought it best to have it checked out as soon as possible."
"You made the right decision, ma'am," the Admiral said. "We'll do a couple of different tests, to be on the safe side, and we should have you on your way within the hour."
"How long are we looking at for the results?"
"Under twenty-four hours. It could be as little as ten hours or it could take up to the maximum. Depends on what's happening in the lab. Of course, we'll be treating your case as priority."
"Oh, that's not necessary, Admiral," Abbey said.
"It's protocol, ma'am."
"Right."
Admiral Armstrong paused in front of the clinic and opened the door.
"Right this way."
10:16 pm
The senior staff assembled themselves on the two couches in the Oval Office and Jed and Leo sat in the chairs nearby. Ron Butterfield sat on the opposite side of the couches in a mahogany chair.
"Okay," Jed began. "Listen. Ryan Chappelle came in a few minutes ago and brought it to my attention that Paul Crawford has confirmed that D.C. has been targeted. Crawford doesn't know, or hasn't yet said, whether or not the White House is in any remote danger. We just know that somewhere in the area, a bomb is set to go off. We don't know when and we don't know where. It could very well be the White House, but for all we know, it could be the British Embassy, the Capitol, and so on."
Jed looked warily at Leo, and then at Ron, before continuing.
"That being said, Leo and I are giving you the option to leave now. Of course your support and hard work is appreciated but, at this time, there is nothing specific that we need you to be doing. Therefore, none of you are essential and are free to go if you so choose."
C.J., Toby, Will, and Josh sat in silence, exchanging stoic glances. They looked back at their President, their facial expression remaining indifferent.
"No takers?" Silence. "All right then. We're thankful for your support. It will not be forgotten."
Jed stood, and as a result, all of the room's occupants did as well. He shook hands with each member of the staff and locked eyes with each of them respectively.
"You are patriots. All of you."
"Thank you, Mr. President," they all stated as they filed out of the office.
Jed, Leo, and Ron reclaimed their seats and sat in silence for one fleeting moment of time before Ron spoke up.
"Mr. President."
"Yeah."
"What do you want to do about the First Lady?"
10:21 pm
C.J. returned to her office without saying a word in response to the concerned expression on Carol's face as she walked by. She closed the door and collapsed on the couch, lost in thought. It wasn't her life she was worried about. She was expendable. It was Hogan's. Poor, unsuspecting Hogan was headed right into the storm. C.J. had no way of reaching her, no way of warning her. All she would do was wait and hope for the best.
10:26 pm
Baltimore, Maryland
The agents escorted Zoey and Jean-Paul back up the stairs to Ellie's apartment. They had been in the limosine when her father called, demanding that she stay where she was. Having heard the news themselves, the Secret Service enforced this order. Ellie welcomed them inside then she and Liz gathered to let the agents inform them briefly of the situation at hand. They didn't have clearance. There wasn't much they could be told at that time. They congregated in the living room, the girls sitting together on the couch while Jean-Paul took a seat in the chair across from them. The agents had the apartment surrounded. They had every exit covered but one.
10:34 pm
Once she had changed into a hospital gown, Abbey sat still on the plastic-covered bed in the corner of the examining room. She folded her hands in her lap and glanced down at her bare feet. Millie had requested to be in the room with her, but Abbey insisted she wait outside. This was humiliating enough as it was.
She knew the procedure. She knew there would be a needle and she knew where that needle would have to go. All her years as a doctor and she still had not reconciled herself to the use of needles. She was perfectly capable of sticking them in other people, but not quite as willing for them to puncture her own skin. Especially in certain sensitive places.
Admiral Armstrong entered the room and smiled cordially at her.
"All set, ma'am?"
Abbey laughed nervously and nodded her head with a patent uncertainty that the Admiral detected right away.
"Ma'am?"
Abbey waved him off.
"I'm fine, Admiral. Just…a tad skiddish about needles, that's all."
Admiral Armstrong paused and raised a questioning eyebrow at her.
"I beg your pardon, ma'am?"
"Yes, it's true," Abbey said, smiling despite her mortification. "I'm a doctor afraid of needles. There, I've said it."
The Admiral chuckled and moved to stand beside her.
"You're not alone, Dr. Bartlet. I've met quite a few excellent doctors who share your fears."
"Well, thank God," Abbey replied. "Dr. Griffith mocks me mercilessly."
"I'll have to speak with her about that," Admiral Armstrong quipped.
"Please do."
"All right. Any last words?"
Abbey glared at him before breaking out into a grin.
"You have a way of comforting patients that is truly extraordinary, Admiral."
10:42 pm
Josh sat alone in his office with the door tightly closed and the lamp off. Streams of moonlight drifted through the window providing the only illumination in the small room. His computer screen had automatically transformed into the screensaver with the presidential seal.He rested his feet on top of his desk and leaned back in his chair as far as it would go without breaking.
Stanley had been murdered. Why? Who would murder Stanley? Josh ruminated carefully, trying to come up with all the reasons for murder possible. Money, power, revenge, information. But Stanley was only a psychiatrist. He specialized in trauma. He didn't have any patients associated with the mafia or anything. Or did he? Mafia? In Washington? Anything was possible. Maybe it was personal vendetta. Maybe Stanley used to be the school bully in junior high and the kid he used to beat up for lunch money had come back to repay him. There were innumerable possibilities.
Will Bailey passed by Josh's office and stopped a foot away. Slowly, he stepped backwards until he could see inside the open slightly ajar door. He pushed the door back, evidently with far too much force, as it slammed against the wall. Startled by the loud intrusion, Josh scrambled to swing his feet off the desk and, in doing so, exceeded the chair's limits. He toppled onto the floor, landing in a heap with the chair on top of him. Will ran into the office and behind the desk, reaching down to relocate the chair. Once Josh had been liberated from the pressure of the chair, he stood up and brushed himself off.
"Well, that was a nasty fall," Will commented.
"Yeah, I really liked the way you knocked just then."
"Sorry."
Josh picked his chair off of the floor and set it right side up.
"What's up?"
"Nothing, I just…saw that you had the lights out and I…"
"Yeah, my, uh…my lightbulb burned out," Josh explained.
Will nodded, then leaned over the desk and switched the lamp on.
"Hmm."
Josh put his hands on his hips and stared at the lamp with confusion before turning to stare at Will in awe.
"You, William Bailey, are the miracle worker."
"Thanks, Helen," Will replied. "What's going on?"
"If I tell you this, it's gonna be heavy burden on your shoulders, and I expect you to keep it to yourself."
Will sat down on the couch and leaned back.
"Go for it."
Josh positioned himself on the edge of his desk and sighed.
"Stanley Keyworth has been murdered."
Will's face remained stoic and indifferent as he digested the news. He took a deep breath and frowned.
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Thank you," Josh replied, solemnly.
"Who's Stanley Keyworth?"
"He's…he's my psychiatrist. He's worked with the President, he's…
he's Stanley Keyworth!" Josh exclaimed. "Or was."
"I see," Will answered, pensively. "How was he murdered?"
"They found both gun shot and stab wounds."
"Someone must have really wanted him dead."
"Yeah. I just cannot, for the life of me, figure out who," Josh said.
"No known enemies?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"Which isn't saying much," Will said.
"I thank you for that boost in my already off-the-charts morale."
"No problem."
"Like I said, I'd appreciate it if you'd keep this to yourself for now," Josh said.
"I don't think that'll be a thing, since nobody around here talks to me. They talk about me, sure, both behind my back and right in front of me, but no one talks to me."
"You're gonna be grateful for that tonight, trust me."
10:49 pm
C.J. stood outside her office conversing covertly with her deputy when Carol rounded the corner. She approached them tentaively and when finally she stood beside them, C.J. took one look at Carol and nodded in a gesture for the deputy to leave. Once he had done so, Carol led them out of the way so they could speak privately.
"What is it?" C.J. asked.
"Hogan's here," Carol said, after taking a deep breath.
"Yeah, where is she?"
"She's in your office."
"Good. I need to get her out of here."
C.J. turned in the direction of her office, but was stopped by Carol's hand grasping her arm.
"C.J."
"What?"
"I just want you to be prepared. I don't think you're gonna be able to send her home."
"She has to go home, Carol. She can't be here right now. It's not safe, you know that."
"Yeah. I know. But, she's…well, she's a little…dissheveled, for lack of a better word," Carol explained.
"What do you mean, dissheveled?"
"Something's happened to her. I don't know. She only wants to talk to you."
Without a word, C.J. turned on her heels and all but flew down the hallway in pursuit of her office. When she reached the room in question, she stopped in the doorway and froze despite all her best efforts to tread further. Sitting, small and vulnerable, on her couch was a girl of only seventeen years. She wore a pink taffetta dress that had been ripped in several locations and her pink shoes both had broken heels. Her blonde hair, which appeared to have been swept up by pins earlier, was completely unkempt and her mascara had pooled with her eyeliner to form dark circles under her eyes. The sight of Hogan Cregg at that moment made it impossible for her aunt to turn her away.
10:55 p.m.
Jed Bartlet stepped out of the Oval Office, an angry scowl plain on his face, and quickly approached his secretary's desk.
"Debbie, where can I find Ryan Chappelle?"
"Uh…" Debbie hesitated, squinting as she thought. "Oh, yes. Mr. Chappelle is working out of the Roosevelt Room with a few members of his team."
"Thank you."
Both Debbie and Charlie looked on as the President stormed toward the Roosevelt Room. He burst into the room suddenly, startling the five people working diligently inside with their laptops and cellular phones. They stood at the sight of him, but he insisted they all be seated.
"Ryan." Jed cocked his head to the side. "Could I have a word please?"
"Of course, Mr. President."
Chappelle followed the President out of the room and into the side door to the Oval Office. The President slammed the door, causing Chappelle to jump only slightly.
"What can I do for you, sir?"
"Where the hell is Colleen McGann!" Jed demanded.
"Sir, I assure you, we have all our people working on it."
"I asked for McGann the first time over an hour and a half ago, and I asked for her again forty-five minutes ago. I'm not playing games here, Ryan!"
"Due respect, Mr. President, but when you say you want McGann in under fifteen minutes, there isn't a magic wand in the world that can guarantee that."
"I beg your pardon?"
"In an operation like this, sir, my team, along with both Kayser and Kaufman's teams, understand more than anyone that time is of the essence. We are constantly working under the clock. We are trained to function in disaster and prepared for every obstacle. CTU specifically is trained not to make tactical errors but the faster you push us, the higher the likelihood of a mistake increases. No one is slacking off, no one is shirking their duties. We are working as fast as we can and I promise you, no one works faster than we do. We respect and honor your leadership, Mr. President, but if you want this done right, you need to let us do our jobs."
Before the President could gather his thoughts in time to respond, Chappelle's cell phone began to ring.
"Excuse me, sir, I need to take this."
He flipped open his phone urgently and pressed it to his ear as Jed watched intently.
"Chappelle. Yeah. Are you sure? I don't want to act on this unless…
okay. One second." Chappelle pulled the phone away from his ear and
addressed the President. "Sir, I've just received word that Colleen
McGann was spotted getting on a train at Union Station five minutes
ago."
"Has that train already left?" Jed asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Do we know where?"
"It's the Carolina line and it's on its way back from New Orleans. This is the train that runs from Louisiana to New York."
"Any guesses where she might be headed?"
"Nothing worth noting, sir."
"All right. I want all stations where that train is scheduled to stop on the look out. I want a picture of McGann sent to the head of security at every station. I don't want her to so much as set foot on the sidewalk."
"Yes, sir."
"Ryan?"
"Yes, Mr. President."
"You think we're gonna get her?" Jed asked uncertainly.
"I don't know, sir. But I know she's not done yet."
"What are you talking about?"
"Sir, right now, the best thing Colleen McGann cando to ensure her own safety is to get out of the country where we can't touch her. Instead, she's on a train headed up to New York. If there was nothing left for her to do, she'd be on a plane to Ireland right now. She's not done yet."
10:59:57 10:59:58 10:59:59 11:00:00
