Dead Watch

Patterson was saying. He was saying that somebody has a package that’s so specific, so criminal, so irrefutable, that as soon as somebody respectable gets it, he’s gonna have to turn it over to the FBI or face criminal charges himself. But until then, it’s a figment of the imagination, floating around out there.”
    “The implied question was, when did the Republicans want the package dumped to do the most damage?”
    “That’s about it,” Merkin said.
    “What was the answer?”
    Merkin’s shoulders slumped, and he shook his head. “Jake, you know how the talk goes on these hypotheticals. People talk about this stuff all the time. Dump it October first, there’s plenty of time for the scandal to blow up, not enough time to recover . . . but who knows, maybe it could be suppressed until it’s too close to the election. So maybe September fifteenth. And maybe . . . Hell, you pick a date.”
    “Sometime in the fall.”
    “I would say that.”
    “And you’re telling me this now because . . .”
    “Because now that it’s out there and somebody knows about Patterson and Packer, we don’t want to get caught in the obstructing-justice squeeze,” Merkin said. “We’re reporting this to you, as the president’s point man on the Bowe investigation. I’m going to make a record of our talk here, and date it, get it notarized, and stick it in a safe-deposit box. If I never need it, that’s great. If I wind up talking to a Senate panel or a grand jury . . .”
    “All right,” Jake said. “This information, whatever it is . . . Patterson got it from Senator Bowe?”
    “I don’t know. You’ll have to ask Patterson.” He swung his sport coat off his shoulder, dug in a side pocket, and came up with a leaf torn from a desk calendar. A phone number and address were written in the memo block. “I happen to have his name and address with me.”
    Jake stuck the paper in his pocket. “I’ll probably have to tell the feds.”
    “We’ll do everything in the world to cooperate. Packer understands that. We don’t have anything to do with Patterson, so that’s not our problem. Remember: the whole thing was presented to Packer as a hypothetical. And it was all so vague, what was she going to report? Anything we did could be interpreted as an unsupported and scurrilous attack on the vice president.”
    They walked to the end of the wing and stood looking at White Girl . She looked back with a boldness that was disconcerting, as though she were personally interested in their conspiracy. After a moment, Jake said, “Well, shoot, Tom. I was planning to sit in the tub tonight. Nice soothing soak.”
    “It’s an election year, Jake.”
    “Yeah, it is. But let me tell you something, Tommy. If I were you, I wouldn’t go leaking this around. If it’s real, it’ll come out. But there are elements of a conspiracy here—a conspiracy with a murder, and you guys are in it. We’re not talking about six weeks in minimum security anymore.”
    “I know that.”
    “So don’t mess with it. Talk to your people, too. Sit on them. This is gonna be . . . this is gonna be difficult.”

    Danzig would still be in his office: Jake said good-bye to Merkin and called. Gina picked up the phone.
    “It’s Jake, Gina. I gotta see him.”
    “He’s done for the day. The president’s back and they’re talking.”
    “Get him out when you can. I’m down by the Mall, but I’m headed that way. Clear me through to the blue room.”
    “Can you give me a hint?”
    “You don’t want to know about it, Gina. Best if you asked the guy about it. I’m really telling you that for your own good, if we all wind up in front of a special prosecutor someday.”
    “Uh-oh. I’ll clear you through.”

    Jake flagged a cab. Five minutes later, he was checking through White House security, heading for the waiting room. The place was crowded, but nobody spoke, simply sat and stared, poked keys on laptops, or browsed through week-old copies of the Economist.
    He’d waited twenty-five minutes before an escort touched his sleeve: “Mr. Winter?”

    Danzig’s two junior secretaries were gone, their desk lights out. Gina sat in a quiet glow, working with pen on paper. When Jake came in, she touched a desktop button and said, “I hope it’s not that bad.”
    “Bill can fill you in,” Jake said.
    The green diode came up, and she said, “Go on.”

    Danzig was standing behind his desk, frowning at a stack of paper. When