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“I hope that each of you, having seen what the explosion of the device would have wrought, will agree that the country should not know these things for a long time to come. Later today I will address the nation and tell them of the bomb plot at The Arrington and how it was stopped. It is very likely that, after my broadcast, you may be contacted by members of the media for a statement. In that case, I ask you to refer all questions to the White House Press Office and to make no further comment.
“Now, with the pens provided, please sign your personal statements and give them to Tim Coleman.”
Stone glanced at the brief statement and signed it. So did everyone else. Tim Coleman collected the statements.
“I want to thank you all for traveling here today and for your help in dealing with this very troubling situation,” Will Lee said. “Good day to you all.” He got up and left the room, followed by Tim Coleman.
Kate Lee spoke up. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am sure it has occurred to you that there was one other person present at The Arrington who possesses much of this knowledge. Kelli Keane, a reporter for Vanity Fair, has already agreed to keep her silence. Holly Barker spoke with her before the president decided to invoke the Act, so Holly will travel back to New York with a copy of the statement for her signature. She will be allowed to include a description of the search for the conventional bombs at the hotel but not to ask any of you for comment. Thank you all, and the helicopter is waiting for the New York contingent.”
—
Everyone was very quiet during the helicopter ride back to New York.
—
Stone sat in the restaurant Patroon, sipping a drink and waiting for Holly to arrive. Ken Aretsky, the owner, joined him for a while but left as soon as Holly walked in. Stone ordered her a drink.
“How did it go?” Stone asked.
“How did what go?” Holly asked in return.
“Let me put it this way: Are you satisfied with the way your day’s work went?”
“Entirely,” Holly replied. She raised her glass. “Now we need never speak of this day again.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Stone said, and he did.
Stone watched the president’s address about events at The Arrington. It was brief enough to be delivered in its entirety during a time-out of a big football game being televised. His phone rang twice that evening, while he and Holly were in bed, and he did not answer either call.
The following morning Holly went to work at the Agency’s East Side office, with the intention of returning to Stone’s house that evening.
When Stone got downstairs to his office there was a stack of messages on his desk. He typed a short statement, printed it, and buzzed for Joan.
“Are they calling you about what happened at The Arrington?” she asked.
“Yes,” Stone replied, handing her the statement. “Please call them back, read them this, then hang up.”
Joan read the statement aloud: “Mr. Barrington has nothing to add to the president’s address of last evening, nor will he at any later date. Please contact the White House Press Office with any questions you may have.” Joan gathered up the message slips on his desk. “You could make a living as a PR guy for somebody who doesn’t want to talk to the media.” She went back to her desk.
—
In her borrowed office on the East Side, Holly called Tom Riley in London.
“Riley.”
“It’s Holly, calling from the New York office. I’m on a secure line.”
“Good morning, Holly.”
“What’s new on Jasmine Shazaz?”
“Is this to do with the president’s statement last night?”
“Yes. We believe she was present when the three bombs were assembled, and she may have had a hand in delivering them to L.A.”
“Only three bombs?” Riley asked.
“What exactly do you mean, Tom?”
