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“And they didn’t let you keep this national security letter?”
I shake my head.
“And they didn’t identify their agency?”
“No.” I slide the card across the desk and he examines it.
I have a pair of reporters’ notebooks and several file folders from interviews with Troy Hardesty. I have my laptop in my briefcase. Nothing is safe at home. Yet while I’m shaken up and hyper, I feel safer now. My notes and sources are safe. I’m in the newsroom.
The M.E. shakes his head. “But you’re the business columnist. What problem could you stir up?”
My ego is briefly stung but I let it go. “Apparently I have.” I run through what I’ve found about Troy’s hedge fund, which isn’t much. It seems in good shape, delivering a good return to well-heeled clients for several years. I tell him there’s no obvious connection between Troy and the missing girl. Of course the key may be what I’m not saying: eleven/eleven.
“That one Amber Burke is hot to solve,” he says. “She’s a pistol, but she’s got a lot to learn. She wants to play cop.”
“You shouldn’t send her to the suburbs.”
The sad eyes in the long face perk up. “What? Are you fucking her, too?”
I hesitate just long enough. “I just tried to help her on this story.” Amber. I haven’t seen her in the newsroom and worry what the two federal goons might have done. I have already left three messages on her cell phone.
He says, “I bet you’re a big help.”
“You ought to be more concerned about her safety. These guys are out of control. Where is she?” He shrugs.
I feel my eyelid start to twitch. “So we’re writing about this for tomorrow, right.”
He leans back and studies me.
“Have you filed your column?”
I nod. I found a new report from the Bureau of Economic Analysis that showed strong per-capita income growth in Washington state. He seems pleased. Sometimes it’s amazing what will make editors happy.
“I’m glad you’re giving Olympic a break.”
“We broke that story. The Times is following us now. We ought to have a reporter on it. But I’m talking about the national security letter. I can’t remember reading about one being presented to a newspaper reporter.”
“I think that’s the point.”
“So let’s do a story.”
Then he rubs his beard again. “I want to talk to Kathryn.” That’s the executive editor, who spends much of her time traveling to attend panels of distinguished editors. “And probably to the publisher.”
My hand stings like hell. “Are you kidding me? This is prior restraint. This violates the First Amendment, and that’s just for starters…”
“Look.” He says my first name. “There’s a lot going on right now. It’s not easy letting people go.” His voice is soft and professorial.
I interrupt. “The paper for sale. Consultants. Layoffs. So?”
“So I need to talk to Kathryn and…”
“I know, the publisher. I can’t believe you’re backing down. This is the Seattle Free Press, not some Gannett info-mercial. What’s the goddamned I-Team working on right now? Give them to me and we’ll get to the bottom of this.”
I know I am too worked up, but I don’t stop. “So they’re going to sell the paper? Let’s at least go down swinging. You have a staffer facing a national security letter! I’d say that’s news. This is a major First Amendment issue. I’ve never known you to back down.”
Wham. His hand slaps the desk and he bends forward like a striking snake. “You’ve never been very smart about some things. That’s why you’re a columnist instead of running a major newspaper, which you could hav
e done. And you don’t have the market cornered on being the incorruptible journalist. This newspaper has been very good to you.”
