Just the Truth

by Gen LaGreca

  Laura looked at him, her face displaying only a calm, unapologetic resolve.

  She said, "I want you to get me more information about James Spenser from Senator Bret Taylor."

  "Oh, no," Sean said, shaking his head. "What do you have, Laura? Not much of anything. You have a self-styled whistleblower, maybe, or maybe just a disgruntled high-level staffer who wanted to make trouble for his boss. And you have an unexplained line item on a budget. What are the chances it's a contract for a political donor? It could be a perfectly valid, qualified, vetted contractor who also happens to be a donor, which is why the administration doesn't want to go public with that and let you make hay with it. You don't have anything more than that."

  "Even if I have nothing, I'm just asking you to get me a little more information from your source."

  "No."

  "I want to know if Senator Taylor ever heard James Spenser use the word Fox, or if he ever heard that word used in relation to SafeVote."

  "Laura, I can't feed you information the way I used to."

  "You can't—or you won't?"

  "I can't."

  "Why not?"

  "I was offered the job of People's Manor Press Secretary. I accepted it."

  Laura looked astonished.

  "I hadn't yet mentioned it to you, Laura, but I'd been under consideration for weeks. My interview with Martin clinched it, and I got the offer. When I told Reed about it and tried to negotiate an early end to my contract, he told me to leave immediately. I said I'd have my lawyer contact his about the terms for breaking the contract, and he said there was no need—he'd cancel the contract and let me out." Sean continued, incredulous, "He didn't seem to care if I hosted his prime-time news program, or if a chimp took my place. So, I'll be starting my new gig right away."

  Laura shrugged her shoulders in acceptance of the news.

  "Okay, Sean, if you insist on working for those people—"

  "Laura, it's the greatest opportunity of my life. It's a tremendous career move. You look as though I . . . should be . . . ashamed."

  "So you'll take the job. That's your choice. You don't have to defend it to me."

  "Laura, it's a golden opportunity!"

  She tilted her head, assessing the news.

  "Actually . . . this could be a good thing. You can get me even more information than before. You'll be a party to some very important conversations."

  "Are you crazy? Absolutely not! Not even for you, Laura. I have to swear an oath that I'll keep the internal conversations of the administration completely confidential. I intend to honor my pledge. I can tell you for sure, I won't be giving you any more leads—none at all."

  Laura stared at him with the hopelessness of having reached a dead end with nowhere else to go.

  "Will you still want to see me, Laura? I'd feel . . . terrible . . . if this ended our friendship. We can still be friends, can't we? I mean, our relationship . . . it's not only about my giving you leads. Is it?"

  Laura looked distant, trying to understand how she could possibly be alone in her search for the truth. First, she lost Reed. He caved in to the demands of the Feds. Then, he lost interest in her, and according to Sean's accounts, he lost interest in his business, too. The purveyors of power, she thought, are like the Grim Reaper, except the powerful claim your spirit, not your body, leaving you lifeless, but still standing, a mere shell of your former self.

  Reed was no longer the person she had known. Now, in her view, Sean was acquiescing to corruption, and no more leads were to come from him. Her whistleblower was dead. Her Public Disclosure Request remained unanswered. And the election was only nine weeks away!

  "Laura?" Sean squeezed her hand. "Our friendship? We still have it, don't we? . . . Laura?'

  "Oh . . . sure."

  The old clock hanging on the wall looked too large for the small meeting room off the set of Just the Truth. When Laura entered the room, the clock's face was the only one that met hers, its handles at nine o'clock. Three researchers sat heads down, weaving through documents. Stacks of papers swelled like hills from the plains of the table top. Empty containers from ordered-in dinners filled the waste basket. Having just completed her show that evening, Laura pulled up a chair, grabbed a stack of documents, and joined the others. The Bureau of Elections had responded to the Public Disclosure Request from Just the Truth, and every page of the documents it sent needed to be examined.

  The old clock, a memento Laura had rescued from JT's office when it was dismantled after his death, hung next to a modern digital display: THUR SEP 7. The continuity of the past and the present, Laura had thought when she'd launched Just the Truth and placed the items in the meeting room two years ago. The technology may have changed, but in her hands, the mission of Taninger News remained as clear-cut and enduring as the old, round-faced clock. She would not notice the time again until well past midnight.

  The next morning, she sat in her office with only one sheet of paper before her. In the reams of material the Bureau of Elections had sent, only one page had mentioned the item of prime interest to her: the $400 million expense entry for work on SafeVote, identified previously as Other. The document indicated that the entire expenditure was allotted to one contractor, a firm called IFT. She had never heard of the company. The Bureau of Elections had provided no indication of what the letters stood for, nor had the agency given any street address, phone numbers, names of key personnel, or contact information of any kind for this firm.

  One of her researchers had performed a company search, which produced a furniture outlet in Tennessee, a trucking company in Florida, a food supplier in Indiana, and a few other firms—all with the initials IFT—but none of them remotely relevant to the development of SafeVote. Furthermore, the Bureau of Elections had sent no documentation of a bidding process for the contract awarded to IFT, although the agency had included records on bidding for SafeVote's other major contracts.

  She called the Bureau of Elections and spoke to its communications director, a woman with a perfunctory voice. Laura explained that the agency had sent her voluminous information on other SafeVote contractors, but nothing on IFT. She needed more information, a lot more.

  "We need time to fulfill your request, Ms. Taninger."

  "But you already had time. Why was this crucial information missing?"

  "We don't have the staff. It could take months to get you all that you want," said the director. "Please try to understand—we're overburdened already."

  "I hope you try to understand," said Laura. "The information I'm requesting belongs to the public, and we have a right to know."

  "Yes, of course, but the public's right to know has to be balanced with what's practical for us to provide, unless you want the entire Bureau to come to a grinding halt to serve you, Ms. Taninger," said the monotoned voice on the phone. "Maybe we should postpone the election so that we can fulfill all of your requests of us."

  Laura hung up in frustration.

  She called her attorney, Sam Quinn, explaining the critical omissions in Elections' response.

  "Can we sue them and get the missing information fast?" she asked.

  "The words government and fast are not generally used in the same sentence," he quipped. "First, I'll need to file an appeal to our Public Disclosure Request, homing in on the company referred to as IFT, whose data is missing. We need to take that step before we can go to court."

  Laura sighed wearily, saying, "Okay, Sam."

  "I'll get on it right away."

  Laura sat facing the lights, monitors, cameras, and technicians that formed the lively canvas of her show. She was ready to paint the evening's landscape. That night there would be a dark sky with growing storm clouds.

  "Good evening and welcome to Just the Truth. I'm Laura Taninger. Tonight, we continue our examination of the tactics that unscrupulous governments use to impede the free press, and we examine whether the Martin administration is guilty of employing them. We've already addressed the tactics of stalli
ng and delaying requests for information, and of using favors, threats, and smears to silence critics. Now, we turn to another tactic. The subject of my Daily Memo tonight is: Tools of Silence: Fake Transparency.

  "Public officials love to proclaim they're in favor of transparency. They fall over each other in support of public disclosure laws. But do they really mean what they say, or do they try to skirt those laws when the disclosures could be unfavorable to their activities, policies, and programs? One way to skirt the public disclosure laws is for an agency to release only the material it wants you see and to withhold the rest. It may release reams of information about the contractors it uses and the work it assigns in areas that don't raise suspicions. That way, the government can say it complied with a request for information. Look at the enormous amount of material it produced. How can anyone find fault?

  "However, if the most controversial of the contracts and payments is missing, is this honest, or is it an unscrupulous way for the government to pretend to be transparent when it really isn't?

  "Now, let's turn to the Martin administration. Would it stoop to using these underhanded tactics to suppress its critics? Sadly, the answer is yes.

  "The Martin administration has been skirting our Public Disclosure Request for the contractors being used, the work they're performing, and the payments they're receiving in the development of SafeVote. When Elections finally responded to our request, here's what it did: It overwhelmed us with information about the contractors and jobs that didn't raise our suspicions.

  "But regarding the unexplained $400 million in expenditures, the item about which we had suspicions and questions, we received only the name—the initials, really—of a sole contractor who is receiving this payment, with no information whatever about the company or the work it's performing. This means that we have to file an appeal to our Public Disclosure Request and wait additional weeks for a response to information we should have already received.

  "Is the Bureau of Elections deliberately running out the clock as it defies the disclosure laws by omitting crucial information? Will Elections be able to stall until after Election Day? We can't let that happen . . . "

  In the office of the president, three people watched Laura's show.

  Ken Martin swore at the television screen.

  "I thought we took care of her!" he said, glaring at Zack Walker. "Laura Taninger is an enemy of the people. She wants to deny Americans their voting franchise. You gotta slam her harder, Zack!"

  "She's a corporate elitist. She's one of the rich," Darcy sneered. "She and her fat-cat friends want to manipulate the election for themselves to suit their own interests and leave the rest of the country out."

  "She's in bed with her advertisers, her investors, and her special interests who vote for our opponents. Are we going to let them run hog wild and destroy us?" Martin's oversized mouth looked ready to scream.

  "No, we're not!" replied Zack.

  Darcy and Martin turned to him.

  "I'll crush her," Zack said, his eyes bright with a new scheme. Relishing its inception, his fingers tightened into a fist.

  Chapter 9

  Sean Browne sat in his office in the People's Manor, waiting for a visit from his new boss, Darcy Egan. Because the president's policies and communication about them were intertwined in the Martin administration, his chief advisor on policy also directed the communications staff as part of her expansive responsibilities. Later that day, Sean would conduct his first press conference. Although he had a staff that briefed him on the news, and he had specialists from key departments that also provided talking points, Darcy took a personal interest in grooming him for his job.

  Sean left the door open—because he was expecting his visitor to arrive, he told himself. His repeated glances down the hall, however, suggested another motive. Smiling to himself, he had to admit that the real reason for the open door was to experience the thrill of seeing the entryway to the president's office just down the hall, with the country's—and the world's—most powerful political figures coming and going. Like a person who pinches himself to prove he's not dreaming, Sean kept his door open to see, hear, and almost touch the president of the United States, like a teammate whose locker was just down the hall from his own.

  In the one heady week since his arrival, Sean had been given daily access to Ken Martin. The most powerful man in the world had whisked him, Sean Browne, onto the presidential jet for a tour of a military facility and a press event with its commander. Sean had also accompanied the president at a meeting with the world's wealthiest business leaders, at a formal dinner for visiting heads of state, and at a posh hotel for a fundraiser.

  The announcement of Sean's new appointment received widespread coverage in the press. Rather than being a mere condiment to grace the plate of a sizzling steak, Sean found himself to be a juicy subject in his own right—for a magazine spread, a leading newspaper story, and an appearance on a popular late-night television show. He had received more invitations in one week than he had received in his entire pre-People's Manor life.

  He had read the day's major newspapers piled on his desk and now turned to his computer to check the online news coverage. His appointment was still getting play, he noticed. As he clicked on Miller News Network, a dash of anger peppered his otherwise sanguine morning. Was it jealousy that fueled his visceral dislike of Reed Miller, the man who had been Laura's boyfriend, but who had never loved her? He, Sean, was the man who could so easily . . . so completely . . . love . . . Would Laura be more interested in him now with his commanding new stature? Would he finally be able to help her break free of what he sensed was Reed's lingering hold on her?

  He thought of his last encounter with his former boss, when he had gone to Reed's office to negotiate a release from his contract so that he could accept the offer to become the press secretary. He had prepared a statement for the meeting about how grateful he was to Miller News Network for his big break in television, but that the opportunity to play a key role in a presidential administration may only come once in a lifetime. He wanted to be helpful, however, and would stay on until a replacement could be found.

  Reed had studied him for a moment, then shrugged. "Pack up now. I release you from your contract effective after your show tonight," Reed had said indifferently.

  "But you'll need time to find a replacement for me."

  "Not a problem."

  "What'll you do in the interim?"

  "A guest host will do."

  "Meaning I won't be missed?" Sean asked.

  "Meaning you belong with them."

  "I'm just curious, Reed. Where do you belong?"

  Reed looked surprised at what sounded like an impertinence.

  "We're not talking about me," he said.

  "It's the prime-time news show on your network—don't you care about your company? Then again, with the way you treated Laura Taninger, I'm not sure you care about anything anymore."

  Reed burst out laughing.

  "I see you finally found your spine," he replied. "When you have nothing to lose, you suddenly speak up to me. That's brave of you."

  Words that Sean had suppressed but always wanted to utter suddenly spewed out.

  He said, "You used her and her show to defend you when the Feds were suing you, when your companies were in jeopardy, when the press was savagely smearing you, when your reputation was at its lowest point, when your fame and fortune were about to get knee-capped. That's when you toyed with her feelings. Then, when the crisis was over and you didn't need her anymore, you dropped her."

  Reed's face showed no reaction, as if the man before him wasn't worth the bother of a strong emotion.

  "If no one's ever told you, I will," Sean went on. "That was a goddamned, despicable thing you did, Reed! You'll rot in hell for it!"

  "Maybe so," Reed said, agreeing with the assessment. "I may someday be standing on one of the lowest rungs in hell. But I'll still have to look down to see your new employers."

  A
s Sean sat in his new office in the People's Manor, he felt indignant at Reed's indifference to him—and to Laura. A glance down the hallway changed his mood. He saw the President of Spain being escorted into Ken Martin's office, and Sean reclaimed his newfound sense of importance. He was now an insider to political events on the highest level. As he smiled, gloating over his new post, Darcy appeared for their meeting.

  I respect Darcy, and she respects me, he thought. Unlike Reed.

  "Hey, Darcy, come on in."

  Darcy Egan closed the door behind her and sat down.

  Sean smiled broadly, but Darcy barely cracked a grin.

  "I'm having a great first week here. It's exciting—I'll tell you that!" Sean said, sitting back for a little small talk.

  "Good," she answered perfunctorily, looking down at the papers she carried with her.

  "I don't know if the buzz I get from having an office just down the hall from the president's will ever wear off—"

  "Here are some notes I drew up for you," she said, handing him a few pages containing her thoughts.

  Her manner toward him had changed, he observed. Gone were the warm greetings and courteous manner she had always employed when she called him at Miller News Network. Working as a journalist, he'd been accustomed to Darcy's diplomacy:

  Oh, hello, Sean, dear. How are you today?

  Would you mind if I mentioned a topic you might consider covering on your show tonight?

  Might I share with you a different perspective on the issue than your guest discussed last night on your show?

  Now, he was surprised to feel tense in her presence. He leaned forward and glanced at the papers.

  "The notes run through what you need to say, especially how you'll handle questions you're sure to be asked," she said brusquely.

  At least Reed never snapped orders at him, he thought. But in his new job, he was, after all, speaking for the president, so he would, of course, need to be under tight supervision, he reasoned.