FOUR BLOCKS AWAY, Fletcher Coal paced in front of the President's desk and listened intently to the phone in his ear. He frowned, then closed his eyes, then glared at the President as if to say, "Bad news, Chief. Really bad news." The President held a letter and peered at Coal over his reading glasses. Coal's pacing back and forth like Der Fuehrer really irritated him, and he made a mental note to say something about it.
Coal slammed the phone down.
"Don't slam the damned phones!" the President said.
Coal was unfazed. "Sorry. That was Zikman. Gray Grantham called thirty minutes ago, and asked if he had any knowledge of the pelican brief."
"Wonderful. Fabulous. How'd he get a copy of it?"
Coal was still pacing. "Zikman knows nothing about it, so his ignorance was genuine."
"His ignorance is always genuine. He's the dumbest ass on my staff, Fletcher, and I want him gone."
"Whatever." Coal sat in a chair across the desk and folded his hands in a little steeple in front of his chin. He was very deep in thought, and the President tried to ignore him. They thought for a moment.
"Voyles leaked it?" the President finally said.
"Maybe, if it was leaked. Grantham is known for bluffing. We can't be certain he's seen the brief. Maybe he heard about it, and he's fishing."
"Maybe, my ass. What if they run some crazy story about that damned thing? What then?" The President slapped his desk and bolted to his feet.What then, Fletcher? That paper hates me!" He moped to the windows.
"They can't run it without another source, and there can't be another source because there's no truth to it. It's a wild idea that's gone much further than it deserves."
"The President sulked for a while and stared through the glass.How did Grantham find out about it?"
Coal stood and began pacing, but much slower now. He was still painfully in thought. "Who knows. No one here knows about it but you and I. They brought one copy, and it's locked away in my office. I personally Xeroxed it once, and gave it to Gminski. I swore him to secrecy."
The President sneered at the windows.
Coal continued. "Okay, you're right. There could be a thousand copies out there by now. But it's harmless, unless of course our friend actually did these dirty deeds, then"
"Then my ass is cooked."
"Yes, I would say our asses are cooked."
"How much money did we take?"
"Millions, directly and indirectly." And legally and illegally, but the President knew little of these transactions and Coal chose to stay quiet.
The President walked slowly to the sofa. "Why don't you call Grantham? Pick his brain. See what he knows. If he's bluffing, it'll be obvious. What do you think?"
"I don't know."
"You've talked to him before, haven't you? Everyone knows Grantham."
"Coal was now pacing behind the sofa.Yeah, I've talked to him. But if I suddenly call out of nowhere, he'll be suspicious."
"Yeah, I guess you're right." The President paced on one end of the sofa, and Coal on the other.
"What's the downside?" the President finally asked.
"Our friend could be involved. You asked Voyles to back off our friend. Our friend could be exposed by the press. Voyles covers his tail and says you told him to chase other suspects and ignore our friend. The Post goes berserk with another cover-up smear. And we can forget reelection."
"Anything else?"
Coal thought for a second. "Yeah, this is all completely off the wall. The brief is fantasy. Grantham will find nothing, and I'm late for a staff meeting." He walked to the door.I've got a squash game for lunch. Be back at one."
The President watched the door close, and breathed easier. He had eighteen holes planned for the afternoon, so forget the pelican thing. If Coal wasn't worried, neither was he.
He punched numbers on his phone, waited patiently, and finally had Bob Gminski on the line. The director of the CIA was a terrible golfer, one of the few the President could humiliate, and he invited him to play this afternoon. Certainly, said Gminski, a man with a thousand things to do but, well, it was the President so he would be delighted to join him.
"By the way, Bob, what about this pelican thing in New Orleans?"
Gminski cleared his throat and tried to sound relaxed. "Well, Chief, I told Fletcher Coal Friday that it was very imaginative and a fine work of fiction. I think its author should forget about law school and pursue a career as a novelist. Ha, ha, ha."
"Great, Bob. Nothing to it then."
"We're digging."
"See you at three." The President hung up, and went straight for his putter.
* * *
RIVERWALK RUNS for a quarter of a mile along the water, and is always crowded. It is packed with two hundred shops and cafes and restaurants on several levels, most under the same roof, and several with doors leading onto a boardwalk next to the river. It's at the foot of Poydras Street, a stone's throw from the Quarter.
