Murder in Foggy Bottom - Margaret Truman [95]
“Welcome back to our continuing coverage of the dramatic events unfolding in Blaine, Washington, where a large force of FBI, ATF, and local law enforcement agents seem ready to storm the ranch owned by hate-group leader Zachary Jasper. Seated with me is Washington Post reporter Joe Potamos, who has just returned from meeting with a man he claims can prove that the Jasper group was not involved with the fatal downing of three commuter aircraft more than three weeks ago. Mr. Potamos, welcome.”
“Yeah, thanks for having me.”
“Your appearance is last minute,” so I don’t have specific questions for you, she thought. “Suppose you start at the beginning and tell us what’s behind your claim that the Jasper Project was not tied to the missile attacks.”
“Yeah, well…”
Potamos looked frightened, and a little confused. Roseann, watching from the control room with Jim Bellis, made a fist and shut her eyes: Come on, Joe, do it! she said to herself.
“Well, it started when I was covering a murder here in DC, Foggy Bottom, in a small park across from the Lombardy Hotel. I saw right away that the deceased was Canadian because he had this tie on with little Canadian flags. Anyway, I was there with a buddy, a police lieutenant, homicide detective Pete Languth, and we were…”
“Is this being videotaped?” the secretary of state asked an aide.
“Not here, ma’am,” he replied. “The press center.”
Another aide started to speak but Max Pauling hushed her with a raised hand. For a moment, it didn’t seem real to him, hearing this reporter saying the same thing he’d been claiming, that the missiles came from Russia through Canada—and not to the Jasper Project but to a binational hate group located in Plattsburgh, New York, on the U.S.-Canadian border. Everyone stood transfixed as Potamos wove his tale, becoming more confident as he went, animation creeping into his voice, hands gesturing, pausing for slight dramatic effect. The anchor said little, asking only occasionally for more details.
“The president’s not available, Madam Secretary,” Eva Young said, rejoining the group.
“Not available?” Rock snapped. “I’m not some county chairman, or kook. Get Tony Cammanati, the first lady, anybody in the White House, and do it now!”
The interview, more a Potamos monologue, lasted seven uninterrupted minutes. A commercial for a depilatory abruptly replaced the two on the screen.
“Mr. Cammanati is on the line, Madam Secretary,” Eva Young announced. Rock entered her office and slammed the door.
National Security Advisor Tony Cammanati took Rock’s call in his private office in the White House. “Welcome back, Madam Secretary,” he said pleasantly.
“Thanks. Tony, have you heard what this reporter, Potamos, just said on CNN?”
“Yes, I did.”
“He corroborates what our undercover agent came up with in Moscow.”
Cammanati said nothing.
“Did you hear me, Tony? We now have it from two different sources, very different sources, that the Jasper Project was not behind the missile attacks.”
“We have it, Madam Secretary, from—”
“For God’s sake, Tony, it’s been years. Call me Lisa.” Cammanati’s laugh sounded forced. “We have it, Lisa, from two very tainted and suspect sources. As I understand it, your guy got it from a Russian thug, a mafioso or mafiotsky, or whatever the hell they’re called, and this reporter, Potamos, he’s—”
“He’s a journalist, Tony, with The Washington Post.”
“No, he’s not. We checked. He was fired. He’s also the one who punched George Alfred Bowen a few years back. Remember?”
“Yes, I remember that incident. Not a bad idea. This is the same one?”
“Yes, ma’am—Lisa, the same one. The point is—” The Secretary looked up at the TV set in her office. The federal and state forces were in place at the ranch. “—the president’s in an extremely difficult position, as I’m sure you can appreciate. He has solid evidence from a veteran FBI undercover agent who risked his life infiltrating the Jasper organization. You’re asking him to discard that source in favor of stories concocted by