A year later:
December 10, 2007
"We have to be open about this thing, sir!"
"All due respect, Mr. President, but we have to keep it firmly under the radar."
Josh glances at Barry Goodwin and wonders how the man ever got so far in the Democratic Party. He has all the instincts of a Republican-and the worst sort of Republican at that.
Not that Josh doesn't believe in keeping many things out of the press, if possible, but not something like this. It will have "cover-up" written all over it, and "public relations disaster" right along with that-though Santos's polling numbers aren't actually Josh's top concern at the moment. His revulsion at what he's been briefing the President about is visceral and intense.
"We should make a press statement, and call for a thorough investigation, sir. An investigation, and action. This has to be stopped."
"The C.I.A. has requested-" Goodwin huffs.
"The C.I.A.-!" Josh can't keep the incredulity out of his voice.
"They say this is a matter of national security."
"The C.I.A. has every reason to try to keep this under wraps!"
Matt Santos folds his arms and looks from one man to the other and back again, his brow furrowed in concentration. Josh is his Chief of Staff, and so-in theory, at least-Matt's most trusted advisor. But Matt's always taken the former DNC chair's advice seriously, too. He'd entrusted Goodwin with the management of his transition, and then given him a position in the administration as Senior Advisor, reporting directly to the President.
Josh hadn't been thrilled about that, but Matt hadn't really given him a choice. Clashes between the two top advisors have sent sparks flying on more than one occasion since then. Matt's okay with that. Not that he enjoys conflict particularly, but he feels more comfortable when he's hearing different points of view than when his staff are all on the same page. That always leaves him wondering what he isn't thinking of, what they're leaving out.
"What's your response to that, Barry?" he asks now.
"Ron Freicker has assured us, sir, that the instances Josh was describing were minimal, and that the techniques of, er, strong persuasion the C.I.A. has used in certain very specific cases have yielded information essential to our security. All the incidents took place on foreign soil. No American laws have been broken. And at least two and possibly more terrorist plots have been averted as a result of the information gained from these techniques."
"Says the C.I.A. Sir-"
"Says the C.I.A. Director you appointed, Mr. President. It hardly seems appropriate to choose not to trust him now."
"He has every reason to cover this up. And he's a Republican."
"He was our appointee. And he's a good one, the best man for the job. He knows the agency inside out and backwards."
"Sir, Nancy McNally says-"
"The N.S.A. has always been at odds with the C.I.A, you know that, Josh. Anyway, Kate Harper disagrees with her."
"Kate Harper is C.I.A.! You never get away from that culture. She-"
"Okay," Matt breaks in, cutting off the debate. "I get the point. You think we should open this thing up to a full investigation, Josh?"
"Yes, sir. The public expects transparency from this administration. You promised full accountability. Anything less isn't worthy of your presidency, and will only end up biting us in the ass when it comes out. And it will come out, sooner or later; these things always do. But even if it doesn't, lives are at stake. Our values are at stake. This isn't who we are. We need to find out now what the C.I.A. has really been doing under Freicker for the past year, and, if it's what we suspect, get it stopped."
"I've already ordered the water-boarding stopped." Matt frowns down at the blotter on his desk, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair-a habit he can't remember indulging in before he moved into this office.
"If our source is telling the truth, that's just the tip of the iceberg, sir."
"That's quite an accusation, Josh." Goodwin's voice is tight with anger. "What do you think our agents are? A bunch of Nazis?"
"We need to make sure they're not."
"At the risk of national security? What do you want, more ships blown up? Airplanes flying into buildings, falling out of the air? We can't afford to be naive. Nobody with any experience in foreign affairs would talk about 'transparency' when security's at stake. The Nazis were a walk in the park compared to the guys we're fighting now."
"Maybe in your park, Goodwin." Josh's voice rises a little more than he usually lets it when he's in that room. "My family wasn't getting rich off arms sales. They were too busy trying to survive in the camps."
"That's enough, guys," Matt says, firmly. "I've heard from both of you; I'm not going to make a decision right now. Josh, I'd like to talk to both McNally and Harper tomorrow-separately, please. And keep this under wraps for now. I don't want to open it up to the rest of the senior staff until I've had a chance to give it more thought."
"Yes, sir."
"Thanks. Goodnight, Barry; I'll see you tomorrow. I know it's getting late, Josh, but if you've got another minute, I want to talk to you about a couple more things I need to fit into my schedule. It seems I missed the last parent-teacher meetings at Peter's school. Helen wants me to try to get to at least one of them this time. She's talked to Ronna about it, but we're going to have to move something to make it happen. And when I told you to book Randall for Friday, I'd forgotten about Miranda's dance recital. . . ."
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Two hours later, Josh finally puts down the phone, pushes himself up from his desk, and reaches for his backpack. It feels heavier than usual, weighed down with more than just briefing papers and exhaustion.
His stomach is still roiling at what he first heard a few hours ago. An agent with an uncomfortable conscience and friends in other branches of the intelligence community had gone through Mike Caspar at the F.B.I. to get a meeting with Josh that morning. By noon all hell was breaking loose in the West Wing-or at least, in Josh's corner of it. Sam still doesn't know, or the rest of the staff. Josh isn't sure he wants them to. He has no idea how he's going to tell Sam Seaborn or any of the others that, on his watch, the C.I.A. has been torturing prisoners in the Middle East.
Not that he's ever thought of the C.I.A. as a model of ethical decorum, but the procedures the agent described are so nauseating they make covert operations and straightforward assassinations seem almost like child's play. Frieckert has denied it all, of course-or most of it, anyway. And the President has ordered the one thing the director is admiting to stopped at once. But there isn't much doubt in Josh's mind that Freickert is lying, and that right now, this very minute, in some filthy hole of a dungeon somewhere on the other side of the world, men and possibly even women are suffering unspeakable things at the hands of American agents.
It's unbearable. And it's his job to stop it. If this had happened just two years ago, that wouldn't be a problem: Leo and Jed Bartlet were pragmatic men who'd made some decisions Josh had never been able to feel comfortable about, but torture wasn't one of them. Leo had been in the service; he knew that if you tortured enemy prisoners, your captured soldiers would be subjected to the same, or worse. Both he and President Bartlet were far too intelligent to think that torture ever produced anything like reliable information, and they knew that American officers had obtained the information their country needed to fight and win world wars on both the European and Pacific fronts without ever resorting to tormenting their prisoners. On the contrary: they were most successful when they set out to win the trust and respect of the men they were interrogating.
And, most importantly, Bartlet and Leo were simply too decent to accept the kind of thing Josh had been listening to all morning. If Josh had taken this story to either of them, they would have blasted Freickert from here to one of his own foul prison cells in Kazakhstan or Qumar, and left him to rot there for the rest of eternity.
But that was two years ago. Now? Josh isn't so sure. Matt is clearly shocked by what he's heard, of course; he would no more countenance torture than Leo or Jed Bartlet would-if he believed it was happening. But Frieckert is denying it, and Matt trusts Freickert, as Josh never has. Goodwin is defending the C.I.A. Director-and Goodwin can be very persuasive. Over the past year Josh has probably lost as many arguments to him as he's won. He really doesn't know which way this one is going to go.
And that thought sears him like acid. What the hell is he doing in this job, anyway, if he can't even be sure the President will listen to him on something like this?
But he is in this job. And if he fails, the responsibility for those men's shattered lives will be his.
He sighs, drags the backpack onto his shoulder, and heads for the door.
His agent falls into place behind him. Josh barely acknowledges him. He's just remembered that Donna had asked him to try to get home in time for dinner tonight.
He pulls his phone out.
"Hey," he says, softly. "I'm sorry. There's been a thing."
"That's okay," she says. Her voice is quiet and detached, and he can't tell whether she's mad at him, or disappointed, or resigned, or even if she's feeling anything at all.
It's drizzling out, a freezing rain. The agent drives him home. He stares out the window at the lights tangling on the wet pavement, and tries to figure out what the hell he's got to do to convince Matt that Freickert is lying, and what he should get Donna for Christmas.
His phone dings. He glances down at it, blinks, freezes. His mouth twists a little. Then he shrugs, a quick, barely-there gesture, and forwards the message to the folder he's marked "Private: Anon."
He can't help flicking his eyes at the agent's face, but the man is concentrating on the slippery road, and hasn't seen a thing.