Part 17 (2/2)
She shoved the mice and hearts in my face. ”This is not a cosmetic change,” she said.
”But it is, that's the beauty of the deception. Editors, copy editors make word changes here and there all the time without affecting the meaning of the sentence.”
”You're the author!” she cried. ”You didn't notice the changes when the book was released?”
”I haven't read it.”
”Haven't read it? Your own book?”
I shook my head. ”Why would I? I already know what's in it, or at least I thought I did.”
”That's why!” she replied.
In retrospect, she had a point.
”Which leaves us where?” Christina said. ”First thing in the morning you contact the publisher?”
”First thing we do is get our hands on a copy of the proofs.”
”But you just said-”
”I'm not the only one who approved the proofs.”
”Yes! Yes!” Christina shouted. ”No! Oh no!”
”What?”
”Margaret . . . she threw them away! I remember now. Ms. Irwin . . .”
”Ms. Irwin . . . the president's personal secretary?”
”Yes. She sent a memo to Margaret saying she was making a copy of the proofs for the president and wanted to know if the chief of staff wanted a copy, since he'd made comments on it. Margaret told her it wasn't necessary. The next day, a runner delivers a copy of the proofs to Margaret's desk anyway. I remember Margaret sniping that Ms. Irwin was the most annoying, pushy busybody she'd ever worked with, always telling people how to do their jobs.”
”What did Margaret do with the copy?”
”She put it in the shredder bin.”
”All right, disappointing, but that means Ms. Irwin still has a copy. If we can get our hands on it we can find out who made the corrections before it was sent to the publisher.”
”You suspect someone in the White House? Who?”
”Ingraham.”
”Oh Grant, do you really think so? You don't want Ingraham as an enemy.”
”A man can't always choose his enemies. I have a feeling he's behind all this, which means it's imperative we get a look at those proofs.”
”But how? Are you just going to walk in and ask her?”
”I wasn't thinking of asking her.”
Christina laughed derisively. ”I suppose you're going to waltz into her office while n.o.body is looking and search through her files.”
”Not me. I can't even get in the door.”
”Then who?”
I folded my arms and stared at her.
”Oh no . . . oh no . . . Margaret is keeping close tabs on everyone. She knows exactly how long it takes to perform every task, and if you take a minute longer, she demands an explanation.”
”Only when she's there. How about when she's not there? How about . . . oh, I don't know . . . now?”
”No, Grant. Absolutely not. Out of the question.”
”People work through the night in the West Wing all the time. It's not that unusual. No one will suspect you.”
”But if someone asks, what do I tell them?”
”The truth. Tell them it's imperative you find some papers by morning.”
Christina backed away from me. She shook her head emphatically. ”No, Grant. No. I can't do it. Rummage around Ms. Irwin's office? What if I get caught?”
”You're my only hope.”
”I don't care what you say, Grant. It's too much to ask. I'm not going to do it.”
As Christina made her way through the empty halls of the West Wing she couldn't get Watergate out of her mind-the second-rate office burglary that culminated in the first presidential resignation in history. It was the ripple effect that intrigued her. A small pebble tossed into political waters creating an ever-expanding ripple that led to the downfall of a president of the United States.
Tonight, she was the pebble. For all she knew, the proofs she was after would reveal nothing of consequence and tomorrow morning Grant would begin making inquiries at the publisher's office to determine who there had implicated him. But Christina's political instincts argued that the answers were in Was.h.i.+ngton, not New York. Intrigue of this nature was the heart and soul of D.C.
Christina was certain the White House copy of the proofs would be the smoking gun. The question that remained was, Who fired the shot? In whose handwriting were the changes made?
There were three primary suspects: the president, Chief of Staff Ingraham, and Ms. Irwin, acting on the president's behalf. There were other possibilities; other aides or writers could have been hired to review the proofs, but until she eliminated the primary suspects, they were inconsequential.
Getting into Ms. Irwin's office would be no problem; her office was rarely locked, the door rarely closed. Restricted access to the heart of the White House made it unnecessary. The hard part would come once she was inside the office. The cabinets were undoubtedly locked. But there were a few places she knew to look and she hoped that publis.h.i.+ng proofs would not be a matter of tight security.
Christina strode into her own office and flipped the light switch. Overhead fluorescents sputtered to life as though she'd awakened them.
What surprised her was that she was enjoying this.
At first, when Grant suggested she do this she thought he was out of his mind. Finally caving to his pleas, she formulated a plan while driving to the White House and not only did she realize she could do this, she had to admit she was good at the planning phase.
Getting past security was no trouble. This wasn't the first time West Wing staff was called to work in the middle of the night.
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