Madam President (24 page)

Hours ago, Dale had suggested that the national security advisor, the FBI director, and the homeland security secretary conduct a joint briefing, but the FBI director had insisted that his time would be better spent overseeing the investigation, and Tim was holed up with the president. The current plan was for Dale to brief the press alongside the homeland security secretary.

“Dale, sorry, are you going to release a transcript of the briefing that the NYPD just did?”

Dale had asked them to hold their questions until the briefing, but some of them simply couldn’t help themselves.

“Why would we do that, Evan? We don’t have any better access to the audio from the New York Police Department than you do.”

“Sorry.”

“Dale?”

“Yes?”

“Any chance we’ll hear from the president or vice president before the address to the nation?”

“Not likely, but we will keep you posted. No more questions, guys, or you’re going to have to clear out. I will brief in half an hour. Feel free to start heading downstairs.”

The press had been staked out in her office ever since she’d invited them upstairs for a short “gaggle,” an informal briefing for the press that wasn’t “on camera.” It served as an opportunity for both sides to prepare for the more theatrical on-camera briefing later in the day. Dale had been in their shoes, and she understood the pressure they were under to break news and keep up with their colleagues.

Dale looked up and saw Lucy shush a reporter and point at Richard, who was speaking in a booming voice about how he was sitting
deep inside the West Wing, where he had a front-row seat to all of the latest information about the attack.

“President Kramer is, at this moment, steps away from us, working on her address to the nation and monitoring the recovery efforts in the five cities that were terrorized today,” he bellowed. The
Politico
reporter snapped a picture of Lucy and Richard with his iPhone. Dale secretly hoped that he would write something awful about them.

Lucy and Richard were getting on Dale’s nerves. She’d asked them to do their live shots from the North Lawn or the briefing room like everyone else, but they were under the impression that they could run roughshod over Dale’s staff and the rest of the reporters. Now Lucy was standing in her bare feet and smoothing Richard’s hair down with her hand, which she’d licked.

Dale was about to order everyone to get out when she heard a commotion at the door. She prayed that it was Marguerite with one of her clever jujitsu strategies for getting the press to do something they didn’t want to do. She peered hopefully toward the small parting of reporters and jumped up when she saw Craig.

Some of the reporters stood. Others started shouting questions.

“Hello, everyone. Thanks for all of your hard work today. I need to borrow Dale for a few minutes.”

Dale and Craig walked out of the press offices and ducked into the Roosevelt Room across the hall.

“What’s up?”

“The FBI director just called with the names of the CNN crew injured in the second blast on the Mall. They’re notifying families now, so make sure these names don’t get released from here. Let CNN go public if and when they want.”

“Did they—?”

“The cameraman died on the way to the hospital. The other two are in critical condition.”

Dale studied the piece of paper he’d handed her and felt her chest tighten. The correspondent was a seasoned journalist who’d made multiple trips to Iraq and Afghanistan.

“Such a tragedy, isn’t it?”

Dale spun around and was surprised to see Lucy and Richard
standing in the hallway. She couldn’t believe they’d followed her out of her office. They clearly believed that the rules that governed interactions between the press and the White House staff did not apply to them. On an ordinary day, this would be annoying, but on
this
day, it represented a shocking degree of arrogance and insensitivity.

“What are you doing out here?” Dale demanded.

“We just heard about Carla. She was one hell of a reporter,” Lucy said.

“She
is
one hell of a reporter. She’s in the hospital.”

“Right.”

Dale realized the trap she’d just fallen into. They were fishing. And she’d given them more information than they probably had. Dale officially hated them.

“I don’t know if they’ve tracked her family down yet, so please don’t report that she’s been hurt. She has a husband and kids,” Dale urged.

“We wouldn’t do that,” Richard promised.

Dale thought she saw him nod in Craig’s direction.

“I’m sorry—did you guys need something?” Dale asked the anchors.

“Just stretching our legs,” Lucy said.

“Can you do that in the briefing room or out on the North Lawn? I have something else I need to speak to Craig about.”

Dale watched Lucy turn her back toward them and assumed that she and Richard were making their way to the West Wing lobby. She leaned in closer to Craig and lowered her voice so that Lucy and Richard wouldn’t hear her.

“I’m getting ready to brief our press on the rescue-and-recovery efforts. I have the interagency notes. Is there anything that I can say about the president’s speech? Do we have a new time for the address to the nation yet?”

“Not right now. She hated the first draft the speechwriters sent her. She cleared everyone out and said she wanted to work on it by herself,” Craig said.

“And how’s the speech shaping up?” Lucy interrupted from a few feet away.

Dale couldn’t believe that they were still hovering close enough to eavesdrop. She was out of patience with them and ready to throw them out of the West Wing.

“Everything is going fine,” Craig said. He put an arm on Dale’s shoulder to calm her.

“Craig, can we speak to you off the record for two minutes about the mood as the president prepares for her address to the nation? We can do it off the record if you want, but we’re still going to broadcast the ‘Day in the Life,’ and it will just be so much better if we have a sense of the dramatic turn this day has taken,” Lucy said.

Dale was incredulous.

“It’s up to Dale,” Craig offered.

Dale faced him to see if he was serious.

He shrugged his shoulders, as if to say
I thought this was what you wanted
.

“Whatever!” Dale said. Her attempt at indifference had come out as irritation.

“What’s going on out here?” Marguerite asked, appearing in their now-crowded hallway.

“Good news, Marguerite. We’re going to get out of your hair for a little bit. Craig has been generous enough to agree to spend a few minutes with us,” Lucy chirped.

The look on Marguerite’s face was priceless. “But Dale is briefing in fifteen minutes.”

“We’ll be back for that.”

Marguerite put a hand on her hip and started to protest, but Dale stopped her.

“Come on. Let’s go back inside and finish our prep in your office. I’ve got the entire press corps sprawled out in mine.”

Lucy and Richard followed Craig down the hall toward his office. Dale and Marguerite watched them go.

“Did you have any idea that they were such pains in the ass?”

“I’d heard from half a dozen of their colleagues, but I figured it was sour grapes.”

“They are definitely more trouble than they are worth,” Marguerite muttered.

“Before we go back inside, I need to show you something. I just got the names of the CNN crew who were hurt in the second Mall attack. Let’s pull the CNN White House unit out and tell them so they don’t hear it while they’re sitting in the briefing room in front of the rest of the press corps when it breaks. I don’t want them to see it on Twitter or on another network.”

Dale handed Marguerite the piece of paper that she’d folded into a tiny square. Marguerite unfolded it and read the names. She covered her mouth with one hand and stared at the list.

“These two are in the hospital,” Dale said quietly, pointing at the names of the reporter and producer. She stood there with Marguerite for a moment to allow the shock to wear off.

“Come on, let’s go get them before it leaks. Lucy and Richard knew about it,” Dale said gently.

They took two steps toward the press office, and Marguerite seemed to crumble. Dale could see that her whole body was trembling. She reached out and pulled Marguerite toward her. Dale wasn’t accustomed to comforting female friends, but she patted her deputy’s back and stood as still as possible in an awkward embrace. She wasn’t sure if she was providing any comfort at all. Dale had never seen Marguerite upset about anything.

“Sorry,” Marguerite said through her tears.

“I’m relieved to learn that you’re human,” Dale gently teased.

Marguerite pulled away and wiped the tears from her face. “It’s all catching up with me.”

“You’re doing great.”

“I’m going to freshen up in the ladies’ room, and I’ll meet you in my office.”

Dale nodded and walked slowly back toward the press office.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Charlotte

C
harlotte couldn’t remember the last time she’d spoken to Peter. It felt like it had been a while, and she wondered how the kids were doing. She picked up the phone and dialed his number in the residence. Before he picked up, the national security advisor appeared in her doorway.

Charlotte hung up the phone.

“Madam President?”

“Come in.”

“I thought I’d check in before the next NSC meeting to see if you needed anything before we head down to the Situation Room.”

“No, but come sit for a moment. Anything new?”

“They’ve identified the body of the Chicago bomber. The FBI director is on his way over.”

“I’m here.” The FBI director had appeared in the doorway to the Oval Office.

“Come in and sit down,” Charlotte invited.

He entered the Oval Office but remained standing.

“Madam President, there’s something I want to tell you both before we go downstairs. It’s going to be very upsetting to a whole bunch of people here, so I wanted to tell you in person and before the meeting downstairs.”

“What is it?”

“We have identified one of the volunteers killed in the second attack on the Mall as Warren Carmichael.”

Charlotte felt the blood drain from her arms and legs. She steadied herself by placing both hands on her desk. “Who knows about this?”

“No one yet, Madam President. I know he works for you—worked for you. I wanted to tell you myself. We’ve been trying to notify the family, but they’re not picking up the home phone numbers that we have on file from DOD. We’re trying to locate cell numbers for Mr. and Mrs. Carmichael from Warren’s phone.”

Charlotte’s throat tightened. “How?” she rasped.

But she knew how. And she knew why. He wasn’t like most people who worked for her. He didn’t stay in his lane like typical political operatives. He went where he could make a difference. Of course, he’d rushed down to the site of the explosion. If only Charlotte had called him and summoned him to the White House. She’d considered it but was afraid of the blowback she’d get for bringing in a political advisor in the middle of a national security crisis. The FBI director was still talking.

“Apparently, he’d gone down to help with the rescue operation. He was helping the first responders comfort the victims when the second explosion went off. A witness said he threw his body on top of a young boy who’d already been injured when the second bomb went off. No normal person would have had the reflexes—or the time—to do that. No doubt that he saved the kid’s life.”

Charlotte was having a hard time containing her emotions. “I’ll be right back.” She nodded at the FBI director and the national security advisor and walked into her private dining room. She closed the door and leaned against it. She didn’t have time to cry. Instead, she took deep breaths and shook her arms out next to her body. She sat down at the table and started to dial Peter’s number again but hung up more quickly than before. Peter wouldn’t say the right thing. And Peter wouldn’t understand why Warren would have walked into such a dangerous situation. Where Peter was cautious and deliberate, Warren was fearless and impulsive. Charlotte took one last deep breath and then walked back into the Oval. They had to tell Dale before it leaked.

“Gentlemen, please postpone the meeting downstairs for thirty minutes. We’ll get started around six-thirty. And when you get the number for Warren’s parents from his cell phone, I’d like to make the call to them myself.”

“It’s a horrible shame, Madam President,” Tim said.

Charlotte nodded and walked over to Sam’s desk.

“Sam, can you find out where Dale is right now?”

“She’s right there,” Sam replied, pointing at the small television on her desk.

“Where?”

“Walking up to the podium in the White House briefing room to do her first briefing of the day with the secretary of homeland security.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Melanie

M
adam Secretary, I have the president for you,” Sam said.

Melanie thought she was calling with feedback on the speech. Maybe Charlotte had felt that it was too morose.

“Are we close, Madam President?”

“I’m not calling about the speech, Mel.”

“No?”

“Are you sitting down?”

“No.”

“Please sit down.”

“You’re making me nervous.”

“Are you sitting down?”

“Yes, I’m sitting.”

“I have to tell you something upsetting. I want you to be prepared for some bad news.”

“What is it?”

“Warren went down to the site of the bombing on the Mall.”

“Why am I not surprised to hear that?”

“Melanie, he got hurt by the second blast.”

“Is it serious?”

“God damn it. I hate being the one to tell you this.”

“Tell me what?”

“When the second bomb went off, he threw his body on top of a kid who’d been injured in the first blast. He saved his life, but his injuries were fatal.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry, Mel. I know how close you and Brian are to him.”

Melanie couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Are you sure? Who told you? Maybe it’s a mistake? Maybe he’s at the hospital?”