Puzzle by Nora Phoenix
41
For the first time in his career, Levar was scared to step into the press room. Scared to the point where his hands were shaking and his stomach was queasy. He’d prepared his press statement with Calix, Coulson, Seth, and a representative from the AG’s office, and he’d received a lengthy briefing on which details he could and couldn’t release to the press. But still, he felt like a deer about to run a course through a forest filled with hunters intent on taking him out.
“Levar.” Calix put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve got this.”
Levar nodded, swallowing in a futile attempt to get rid of the dryness in his throat. “Thank you. I don’t feel like it. I’m scared I’ll make a mistake.”
“Even if you do, that’s okay. We all understand…and let’s face it, none of us could do it.”
True, but that didn’t make it any easier that Levar had no choice. Facing the press was his job, even on days like this when he wanted to be anywhere else but here. He pinched his eyes shut. “I need a moment.”
“Take your time. They’ll wait.”
Oh yes, they would. They’d only become hungrier, more eager to hear this mysterious press release that had been announced earlier that morning. And once he was done, they’d pounce.
He smelled him before a pair of strong arms wrapped around him. “I’m here, baby.”
A sob of relief escaped him as he leaned into Henley’s embrace. “Thank god. I’m so scared.”
Henley held him closer. “I know.”
No words of wisdom, no advice. Just a simple affirmation that he understood. Levar inhaled deeply, letting the faint fragrance of Henley’s aftershave comfort him. “Will you be in the room?”
Henley never attended press briefings anymore, if only because they all wanted to avoid even a hint of impropriety or a conflict of interest.
“If you want me there. I have Calix’s permission.”
He had the best boss in the world. Calix must’ve foreseen how hard this would be for Levar and had already arranged for Henley to be there. “I do.”
“Then I’ll be there. Look at me when it gets too much, okay? Lean on me.”
Levar nodded, and then Henley kissed him. Not a brief peck on his lips but a full-out kiss, tongue and all. Levar stopped shaking, and his heart rate slowed down. Funny, Henley’s kisses usually had the opposite effect.
Henley released him. “Go get ‘em, baby.”
Levar straightened his shoulders, took another deep breath, then walked into the press room. The buzz of voices faded, and every face, mic, and camera in the room turned to him. God help him. He waited until Henley had taken a spot all the way in the back of the room, right next to Calix.
“Good afternoon. An hour ago, the FBI arrested eight American individuals in connection with the Pride Bombing and the assassination of President Markinson.”
He stopped, having expected the wave of shock that golfed through the room. He let it ride out until silence had returned.
“Their names are Wesley Quirk, 34, of Baltimore, Maryland. Jonathan Brooks, 48, of Oklahoma City. Steve Duron, 43, of Rockville, Maryland. Laurence Paskewich, 44, of Tysons Corner, Virginia. Naomi Beckingham, 26, of Derby, Kansas. Ralph Durrick, 29, of Derby, Kansas…”
He waited, wanting everyone’s full attention for the last two names.
“…Kurt Barrow, 49, of Bethesda, Maryland, and Basil King, 38, of Washington DC. Barrow and King are the owners of Kingmakers, a private military contractor. The latter two have also been charged with the conspiracy to the murders of First Lady Annabeth Markinson and First Lady Sarah Shafer.”
Seeing genuine shock on the faces of the press was rare, but he had the whole room deadly quiet. Pale faces, open mouths, everyone clearly trying to process what it all meant.
“All individuals are in federal custody and will be prosecuted for multiple federal charges related to an act of domestic terrorism. Their properties have been seized by the FBI, and relevant material and digital belongings have been taken into custody for further investigation. The FBI has raided the offices of Kingmakers, located here in DC, as well as served subpoenas to several connected individuals and companies suspected of involvement. At this time, we will not release any information on the roles of each of these individuals and companies in the Pride Bombing and the assassination, as this is an ongoing investigation. The FBI does ask anyone with relevant information about these individuals and companies that could relate to the Pride Bombing or the assassination to come forward. The FBI can be reached through an anonymous tip line, the number of which is showed on your screen right now. You can also submit information through the FBI’s website, FBI.gov/tips.”
He checked his notes. One more thing and then he was done. “At this time, we are not sharing information on the relationship between the suspects and Hamza Bashir or Al Saalihin. Please keep in mind that this is an ongoing investigation and that a lot of the details are classified information that will not yet be released to the press. I will now try to answer the questions I’m at liberty to answer.”
He braced himself and rightfully so because he’d barely gotten the last syllable out before every hand in the room shot up and every reporter was shouting his name. Good god, this was pandemonium. For a second, his eyes darted to Henley, who sent him an encouraging smile, and then Levar picked a random reporter. “Alan, go ahead.”
Alan from the Chicago Tribune shouted his question, and even then, Levar caught only fragments of it as the other reporters wouldn’t stop calling out their own questions. Oh, for fuck’s sake. This would never work. He had to get some kind of control back. He put his fingers in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle that restored order to the room. “People! One at a time or no one will get anything usable from this. Alan.”
“How long has the FBI known these two attacks were acts of domestic terrorism?”
“It’s important to note that while the FBI believes Americans were involved in the attacks, they were carried out by a foreign terrorist group, so it would be considered a mix of domestic and foreign terrorism.”
Alan smiled. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
Of course he didn’t, and Levar hadn’t expected to get away with it, but he’d had to try. “Almost from the beginning, there were aspects to the Pride Bombing that suggested domestic involvement.”
“What kind of aspects?”
“I can’t answer that.” He looked around the room. “Donna.”
“Does the suspected involvement of Kingmakers suggest a motive?”
He’d known that question would be asked. “I’m not going to speculate about motive at this point.”
“But considering they’re a defense contractor, that seems rather obvious.”
“Affirming or denying that would mean speculating about motive, which isn’t something I’ll engage in.” He pointed at the NBC reporter. “Carol.”
“Can you say anything about the type of evidence the FBI has for the domestic involvement in the Pride Bombing and the assassination as well as the murders of the two First Ladies?”
Levar nodded. “In general terms, yes. Let me make it clear that while the FBI has taken the lead on this entire investigation, this has been a joint effort by the entire intelligence community. Almost all federal intelligence agencies have been involved, including the ATF, the NSA, and the CIA as well as several foreign intelligence agencies. This investigation started after the Pride Bombing, and it’s still ongoing. The evidence against these suspects is overwhelming and consists of phone calls, emails, CCTV footage, surveillance, physical evidence, tips from others, and much more.”
He gestured at the next reporter. “Is there a connection with the case against Kingmakers and the four defense contractors who were indicted for illegal campaign contributions?”
They had hoped for this question. On one hand, Coulson had warned Levar not to speculate about motive, mostly so the suspects wouldn’t be aware of how much information the authorities had on the whole scheme. But on the other hand, they wanted the press to dig deeper, hoping they’d be able to find people who might be unwilling to talk to the government but would feel more comfortable as an anonymous source for a reporter. This question was the perfect setup.
“The FBI is not willing to provide clarity about the possible connection, but it does seem too much of a coincidence not to look into.”
He answered question after question, his brain in a constant stage of strange hyperawareness, registering every little detail, every nonverbal communication. Every few minutes, he let his gaze drift to Henley, who stood unmoving, watching Levar. He drew strength from his presence, even though Henley did nothing but stand there, meet his eyes, and smile at him. It was enough.
“Will the president address the nation about this?” James, the FNW News reporter, asked.
“Not at this point.”
“Why not? Doesn’t the president feel that catching the real culprits behind the Pride Bombing he spent so much time lamenting about as well as the death of his own wife warrants a personal response from him?”
Journalism 101: always check the premise of the question. “I’d hope that any American would lament the 153 lives that were lost at the Pride Bombing, as well mourn the loss of President Markinson, Mrs. Markinson, and Mrs. Shafer,” Levar snapped at him, then took a deep breath. “Their deaths were not a loss for the president alone, but for all their loved ones and the country as a whole. I also object to your classification of the suspects that were arrested today as the real culprits. When you’ve found a more appropriate way to ask a question, you can try again.”
Henley had his hand in front of his mouth, covering a laugh, and Levar had to work hard to keep himself from reacting. He answered questions until the press ran out of fresh things to ask that he was willing to answer, and he called it quits. When he walked back into the West Wing, Henley stood there waiting for him, and he fell straight into his arms.
His man. His anchor in this storm. His home.
