Maybe. Maybe the Iranians did it. Make Baker look like an asshole. Right now, though, the only thing that bothers me about Hodges is how Forbes knew about him. And about the shrink. He stared at the TV. I want to know who this bastard is.
In the end, she was disappointed. Vic Forbes did not look like a monster or a pantomime villain. In truth, his face, as he stared dead-on at the camera, conducting a satellite interview from a studio in New Orleans, was forgettable. It was lean, like one of the whippets her grandfathers friends used to keep in Dublin. His nose seemed to be pinched, too thin at the bridge. He was bald, save for some slight grey at the temples, which had Maggie put his age at around fifty, though it was perfectly possible that he had looked the same way when he was thirty.
If she had guessed how this scene would have played out, she would have imagined embarrassment would at least feature in it somewhere. Maybe shame was too much to ask for in this day and age, but youd think a man who had anonymously smeared the President would at least have the courtesy to seem uncomfortable, even if he couldnt bring himself to squirm in his chair.
But Forbes was having none of it. Maggie watched mesmerized as he batted away a series of questions as if hed been doing this all his life.
Describing himself as a researcher, he insisted he was aligned with no party and no faction, a phrase that, to Maggies ears at least, reeked of pomposity.
I am a truth-teller, if you will, he said. I had this information this truth and I felt guilty that I wasnt sharing it with the American people. Its an old-fashioned phrase, but I believe they have a right to know. They have a right to know who their president really is.
But how did you get it? the interviewer asked. Surely the American people have a right to know that too, dont they?
Maggie felt her own fist clench, involuntarily. Come on.
Well, Natalie, he began.
Good, thought Maggie. He seemed flustered.
The thing isLook, in an ideal world
Maggie glanced at Stuart, who was as transfixed as she was, hoping that they were witnessing the unravelling of Vic Forbes on live television.
The point I would make, Natalie, is to ask you this: would you reveal your sources, if your network had broken a story like this without my help? Of course you wouldnt. Maggie felt the air deflate out of her. And nor would anyone ask you. Thats a basic principle of journalism.
Yes, but youre not a journalist, are you, you scumbag bastard! Stuart hurled an empty Styrofoam cup at the TV.
The same sentence ran through Maggies head, on a repeat loop: Who is this guy?
Stuarts phone rang. He stabbed at it, putting it on speaker. Hey, Zoe, whaddya got?
Maggie heard the agents voice, stiff and correct. Its still very early in our inquiries, Mr Goldstein.
I know that. And I also know that electronic data of this kind is complex and searches can take several weeks- his voice was rising, -and that its impossible to be certain, I know all of that, Zoe. But I need to know. WHAT. HAVE. YOU. GOT?
The sound of shuffled papers was finally followed by an intake of breath.
OK, Mr Goldstein. Our preliminary investigation-
Zoe.
New Orleans. We think the person who sent that message to Katie Bakers Facebook page was white, male, extremely adept with computer technology and from New Orleans, Louisiana, sir.
He hung up, shooting one eye at Maggie, the other on the TV.
So, Stu, hes the same guy, right?
Confirmed, Goldstein said, staring at the screen, watching Forbes perform. How come this guys so good? All that BS about the peoples right to know. Where did that come from? He looks like shit; hes sweating. But hes impressive. Hes careful. Hes like a goddamn politician.
Without taking his eye off the screen, he reached for the remote and hit pause. (A set-top box, allowing the pausing and rewinding of live TV, was now an essential tool of the trade: it meant never having to miss an enemy gaffe again.) He rewound and watched the last minute again.
What are you looking for? Maggie asked.
I dont know, he murmured. But Ill know it when I see it.
There he went again, more guff about his duty to lay out the facts before the American people. He couldnt play judge and jury, but people should know he was serious and the President should know he was serious.
But on this second viewing Goldstein was not listening. He was looking. And now he saw what he had glimpsed so fleetingly. Maggie could see it too. A movement of the eye, still looking at the camera but no longer as if trying to meet the gaze of the unseen interviewer: he was, instead, looking into the audience. More than that, he seemed to be addressing someone specific.
The President should know Im serious.
Goldstein hit pause once more, freezing Vic Forbes at the moment he lifted his eyes, the signal that he was speaking to an audience of one.
The President should know Im serious. Deadly serious.
11
Washington, DC, Tuesday March 21, 18.15
For the third time in two days, Maggie was in the White House Residence. Maybe I should get myself sacked more often, she had said to Stuart. It seems to be a good career move.
This was an emergency meeting, called by the President. He wasnt pacing this time; his exterior, at least, was calm and cool. He had chosen one of the wooden chairs, allowing him to stay upright even if everyone else would be forced to slump on a sofa.
Maggie looked around the room, five of them had been called here Goldstein, her, Tara MacDonald, Doug Sanchez, and Larry Katzman, the pollster.
Thank you for coming, Baker said, steadily. This is not a White House meeting, which is why were gathering in my home. Youll notice my Chief of Staff is not here. This is a discussion among my campaign team. Old friends. He attempted a smile. Some of you work in the White House. Some of you dont.
Maggie stared at her feet.
I need your advice, he went on. This presidency is under sustained assault. We knew it would happen one day. But not as soon as this. He paused. Stuart, remind us what we know.
Thank you, Mr President. Stuart Goldstein cleared his throat and moved to the edge of the sofa he was on so that he could have a line of eye contact with everyone in the room.
He looked horribly uncomfortable. Maggie always felt for Stuart in casual situations. His body was not designed for it. He needed a suit and a hard chair, preferably on the other side of a desk. In casual clothes, or on a couch, he was lost.
Vic Forbes, from New Orleans, Louisiana, supplied MSNBC with two stories in the course of little more than a single news cycle. Both of these stories were calculated to cause maximum damage and both required deep investigative skills. Or inside knowledge.
Maggie saw Tara MacDonald shift in her seat.
At the same time, he has made an indirect, but personal contact with the White House.
Now both MacDonald and Sanchez sat to attention.
Last night someone posing as a friend of Katie Bakers sent her a message via Facebook.
There was a gasp.
Stuart went on. This message effectively claimed responsibility for both the first MSNBC story and, in advance, the second. He said it would come in the morning and it did. He also made a very direct and personal threat against the President.
There was a pause. All eyes were on Baker, who eventually spoke. Tell them what he said, Stuart. His exact words.
Goldstein cleared his throat. Maggie noticed that he looked nervous. Was that because he was not used to addressing a large group, like this one? No. As Maggie watched, a hint of colour appeared at the top of Goldsteins cheeks, and she realized the source of his awkwardness. He was straying, however indirectly, into a wholly alien realm. Talking about Katie Baker and her friend Alexis, discussing live chat on Facebook, forced Stuart Goldstein married to a fellow political consultant but without children to enter the world of family life, of fathers and daughters, of vulnerable teenage girls, a world, in short, utterly remote from his own.
He began to read. I have more stories to tell. The next one comes tomorrow morning. And if that doesn t smash his pretty little head into a thousand pieces, I promise you this the one after that will. Make no mistake: I mean to destroy him.
Tara MacDonald gasped, suddenly looking like the mother of four that she was, an angry and protective matriarch, as she shook her head and muttered, That poor child. In an instant the fury that had been brewing inside the White House ever since the psychiatrist story first broke had a focus: loathing for this man who had not only sought to derail the Baker presidency in its infancy but had dared to prey on a child.
Stuart continued. Secret Service traced the communication to a house in Bethesda, Maryland. They raided the property. The computer was there, but not the person. Turns out the machine was a dumb terminal. Guy was operating it remotely. Eventually he was traced to New Orleans.
So hes the same guy? Forbes? Sanchez, his voice urgent, as if that was all he needed to get his coat on, head out and find the man himself.
Yep.
There was a subtle movement in seats, as people braced themselves for the meat of the discussion: what do we do now?
Stuart held up a fleshy finger. Theres one more thing. Agent Galfano did some extra probing, based on the computer IP address in New Orleans. She examined the data records of the so-called liberal blogger who so ingeniously hacked into MSNBCs emails, thereby revealing their source.
One step ahead as always, Tara MacDonald shook her head. Dont tell me. New Orleans.
Yep. Forbes.
Sanchez whistled in apparent admiration. The guy outed himself.
A noise like a door opening out on a snowstorm came through the room. Anyone hearing it for the first time would have been puzzled. But these veterans of eighteen months on the road together were used to the sound of Stuart Goldstein sighing. Seems so, he said.
Sanchez crinkled his forehead, in a way that recalled the precociously bright teenager he had obviously been all of seven or eight years ago. Why the fuck would he do that?
Now Maggie spoke. So that wed listen to him. All heads turned to her, including, she noticed, the Presidents. He knew what wed do. He knew wed trace his message to Katie. He wanted to be certain that once wed found him, wed know he was for real. He wanted us to match him up to the MSNBC source.