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Coal stared at him； but said nothing。
Voyles was near the street。 〃I'll be back in two days with a grand jury subpoena；〃 he yelled。 〃I'll e about two in the morning and serve it myself。〃 He was at the car。 〃Next I'll bring an indictment。 Of course； by then your ass'll be history and the President'll have a new bunch of idiots telling him what to do。〃 He disappeared into the limo； and it sped away。
Coal picked up the paper； and went inside。
* * *
GRAY AND SMITH KEEN sat alone in the conference room； reading the words in print。 He was many years beyond the excitement of seeing his stories on the front page； but this one brought a rush with it。 There had been none bigger。 The faces were lined neatly across the top： Mattiece hugging the President； Coal talking importantly on the phone in an official White House photo； Velmano sitting before a Senate submittee； Wakefield cropped from a bar convention picture； Verheek smiling at the camera in an FBI release； Callahan from the yearbook； and Morgan in a photo taken from the video。 Mrs。 Morgan had consented。 Paypur； the night police reporter； had told them about Wakefield an hour earlier。 Gray was depressed about it。 But he wouldn't blame himself。
They began drifting in around 3 A。M。 Krauthammer brought a dozen doughnuts； and promptly ate four of them while he admired the front page。 Ernie DeBasio was next。 Said he hadn't slept any。 Feldman arrived fresh and hyper。 By four…thirty； the room was full and four televisions were going。 CNN got it first； and within minutes the networks were live from the White House； which had no ment at the moment but Zikman would say something at seven。
With the exception of Wakefield's death； there was nothing new initially。 The networks bounced back and forth between the White House； the Supreme Court； and the news desks。
They waited at the Hoover Building； which was very quiet at the moment。 They flashed the photos from the papers。 They couldn't find Velmano。 They speculated about Mattiece。 CNN showed live footage of the Morgan house in Alexandria； but Morgan's father…in…law kept the cameras off the property。 NBC had a reporter standing in front of the building where White and Blazevich had offices； but he had nothing new。 And though she wasn't quoted in the story； there was no secret about the identity of the author of the brief。 There was much speculation about Darby Shaw。
At seven； the room was packed and silent。 The four screens were identical as Zikman walked nervously to the podium in the White House press room。 He was tired and haggard。 He read a short statement in which the White House admitted receiving the campaign money from a number of channels controlled by Victor Mattiece； but he emphatically denied any of the money was dirty。 The President had met Mr。 Mattiece only once； and that was when he was the Vice President。 He had not spoken to the man since being elected President； and certainly did not consider him a friend； in spite of the money。 The campaign had received over fifty million； and the President handled none of it。 He had a mittee for that。 No one in the White House had attempted to interfere with the investigation of Victor Mattiece as a suspect； and any allegations to the contrary were flat wrong。 Based on their limited knowledge； Mr。 Mattiece no longer lived in this country。 The President weles a full investigation into the allegations contained in the Post story； and if Mr。 Mattiece was the perpetrator of these heinous crimes； then he must be brought to justice。 This was simply a statement for the time being。 A full press conference would follow。 Zikman darted from the podium。
It was a weak performance by a troubled press secretary； and Gray was relieved。 He suddenly found himself crowded； and needed fresh air。 He found Smith Keen outside the door。
〃Let's go eat breakfast；〃 he whispered。
〃Sure。〃
〃I need to run by my apartment too； if you don't mind。 I haven't seen it in four days。〃
They flagged a cab on Fifteenth； and enjoyed the crisp autumn air rushing in the open windows。
〃Where's the girl？〃 Keen asked。
〃I have no idea。 I last saw her in Atlanta； about nine hours ago。 She said she was headed for the Caribbean。〃
Keen was grinning。 〃I assume you'll want a long vacation soon。〃
〃How'd you guess？〃
〃There's a lot of work to be done； Gray。 Right now we're in the middle of the explosion； and the pieces start falling to earth very soon。 You're the man of the hour； but you must keep pushing。 You must pick up the pieces。〃
〃I know my job； Smith。〃
〃Yeah； but you've got this faraway look in your eyes。 It worries me。〃
〃You're an editor。 You get paid for worrying。〃
They stopped at the intersection at Pennsylvania Avenue。 The White House sat majestically before them。 It was almost November； and the wind blew leaves across the lawn。
* * *
AFTER EIGHT DAYS in the sun； the skin was brown enough and the hair was returning to its natural color。 Maybe she hadn't ruined it。 She walked miles up and down the beaches and ate nothing but broiled fish and island fruit。 She slept a lot the first few days； then got tired of it。
She had spent the first night in San Juan； where she found a travel agent who claimed to be an expert on the Virgin Islands。 The lady found a small room in a guest house in downtown Charlotte Amalie； on the island of St。 Thomas。 Darby wanted crowds and lots of traffic on narrow streets； at least for a couple of days。 Charlotte Amalie was perfect。 The guest house was on a hillside； four blocks away from the harbor； and her tiny room was on the third floor。 There were no shutters or curtains on the cracked window； and the sun woke her the first morning； a sensuous wake…up call that summoned her to the window and displayed for her the majesty of the harbor。 It was breathtaking。 A dozen cruise ships of all sizes sat perfectly still in the shimmering water。 They stretched in a careless formation almost to the horizon。 In the foreground； near the pier； a hundred sailboats dotted the harbor and seemed to keep the bulky tourist ships at bay。 The water under the sailboats was a clear； soft blue； and as smooth as glass。 It gently curled around Hassel Island； and grew darker until it was indigo and then violet。 as it touched the horizon。 A perfect row of cumulus clouds marked the line where the water met the sky。
Her watch was in a bag； and she had no plans to wear it for at least six months。 But she glanced at her wrist anyway。 The window opened with a strain； and the sounds of the shopping district echoed through the streets。 The warmth filtered in like a sauna。
She stood in the small window for an hour that first morning on the island； and watched the harbor e to life。 There was no hurry。 It woke gently as the big ships inched through the water； and soft voices came from the decks of the sailboats。 The first person she saw on a boat jumped into the water for a morning swim。
She could grow accustomed to this。 He