Vacant Heart

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Does he want the information leaked? Does he want us to look over and decipher the facts?

We walk around to the river entrance instead of the main one for visitors. This side has view to Washington D.C., just across the Potomac River. The Lincoln Memorial stands high and erect in the overcast sky. When we walk through the doors and through security, eying the armed detail watching us closely as our badges are scanned, our Ids checked through the system, I'm sure we're entering through an area that journalists, let alone plain old civilians, would never be permitted to walk through.

Because of the company we're with and our lack of carry-on items, they allow us to pass through without more than a brief pat down. And once were inside, and I'm figuratively pinching myself, my eyes take in the details of the walls, the staircase leading to the Secretary's corridor, the office of the Chairman of the joint Chiefs of Staff. In a frame on the wall in the hallway hangs the Oath of Office, an allegiance to the Constitution.

Aidan and I both have great poker faces, but in this case, we're equally taken aback, soaking up the moment in our collective silence. It's clear the Lieutenant doesn't want to speak on the matter in hallways. He leads us through the second floor, inside the 9th corridor, weaving us through the alphabetically marked halls.

It's rare when someone passes by, but when they do, dressed head to toe in uniform, we take Martinez's lead, nodding with a subtle "sir". I doubt it's always this quiet, a result of the lockdown, which has made these corridors stiff with tension.

I'm relieved when we reach an office, which he holds open for us to walk through. Although his office is mediocre in décor and size, his view is spectacular, even more so since it's begun snowing again, white flakes coming down steadily over the grounds, the frigid river that gives me chills to look at. Just anyone doesn't get a view like this, and judging by the four stars on his uniform, he's one of the highest ranks here.

He shuts the door with a sigh. "Let me take your coats. I'll hang them up on the rack. It's right by the vent, which is a blessing in the winter. Warms them up fast."

We hand him our coats, and as soon as my gloves and hat is off, I'm missing the warmth.

"Have a seat."

Complying, we watch as he rounds the desk, unbuttoning his suit jacket. He removes the leftovers of his lunch from his desk with a small chuckle. "Sorry. I become a slob when there's no cleaning crew. Since the initial threats to the White House, which I know you're familiar with," he says, wiggling his brows at me, "we've stretched the designated days for crews to come in. And with this lockdown, I fear my office is only going to get worse."

He opens a drawer, depositing a thick folder onto the center of the desk. "All right, I'm going to get right down to it. This is the pre-approved information, information we want leaked to the public. We're not at the right place to announce it ourselves, but what is in this folder, we'd like you to compile a detailed piece, which you will need to run by me first, which I will run by the Press Secretary unofficially, and then upon approval, you will publish at The Chronicle."

"I'm curious as to why you want a Seattle magazine to release unofficial government information," I say. "I had the understanding that the article that went viral wasn't something that made the secretary very happy."

"No, it didn't. However, we do need to answer questions. The president doesn't want to address the threats head-on, and since you are already connected to the initial release of information regarding this mess, the secretary thought it would be better to be you than anyone else."

It sounds suspicious, but I won't be able to decipher the pros and cons of this without looking at the information first. I'm not really at liberty to deny him that. "Now, when you say you'd like me to write the article, are you asking or telling?"