To Hannah it looks like the president is about to let loose another bit of rage against the Black woman reporter, and then it fades away, like a heavy dark fog being swept away by a rising sun.
What the hell was that all about?
“I’m just needling you, Pamela, and forgive me if I took it too far,” he says, his voice instantly more calm. “As to your initial question, no, I wasn’t surprised. Senator Majority Leader Hogan and I have been in close contact these past weeks, trying to untangle whatever mess Director Abrams’s confirmation was entangled in. Today I pressured him to get the job done, and as you can see”—holding a hand in Hannah’s direction—“the job is done.”
The president stands up, as does Hannah. He says, “Speaking of jobs, I’ve got a busy afternoon ahead of me, and so does Director Abrams—”
“Any updates on the vice president’s condition?” a reporter calls out.
“I’m afraid not.”
“Mr. President, any comment on the allegations against Speaker Washington?” another reporter chimes in.
The president says, “I’ve known the speaker for a number of years. She’s a trustworthy and honorable woman. And allegations are just that: allegations. Now, I must leave.”
One of the president’s press aides, a young man with an aura of importance about him, said importance not quite matching his scuffed black shoes, starts calling out, “Thank you, folks, thank you … come along, it’s time to leave.”
The door to the Oval Office swings open and the reporters are gently herded out, still tossing out questions like children sending out last-minute pleas to a store Santa Claus. Then it’s just her and the president and his special assistant, Carlton Pope.
“Thank you, Mr. President, it’s going to be an honor working for you.”
“Well, remember that, when certain hotspots start boiling over—”
“Mr. President,” she interrupts. “May I have a few minutes with you. Alone?”
The briefest of glances between the president and Carlton Pope, and the squat, rugged man nods and leaves, gently closing the door behind him.
President Barrett remains standing.
Doesn’t offer her a seat.
So that’s how it’s going to be,she thinks.
“Sir, I’d like to start out our relationship on a good footing, and I believe the key to that is regular meetings and communication.”
The president remains silent.
She says, “You get the PDB on a daily basis, and between you and me, I’m glad that you’ve gone to the old-style way of being presented the information in printed form. I guess I’m a dinosaur as well, because that’s how I like to work.”
“Hannah,” he says. “Get to the point.”
She says, “I think it would be greatly productive if we had weekly meetings. I can give you additional information above and beyond the PDB. It’s also a productive way for you to give me your concerns directly, without it being filtered.”
Barrett says, “I think such meetings are overrated, to tell you the truth.”
“I would politely disagree, sir,” she says. “It’s a great tool for the two of us to work together for the benefit of the intelligence community and the nation.”
His eyes seem to get colder. “You’re a big fan of meetings, aren’t you, Hannah?”
“Sir?”
His eyes are now frigid. “Meetings and phone calls with the majority leader. So damn eager to get into your job. Going around me—the president!—who had nominated you for this post. Is this what loyalty means to you?”
“Mr. President, I assure you that—”
“From now on,” he says, “you’ll only communicate to me via the PDB unless we’re under attack. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” she says.