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Chapter or Story
The Pretender: The Administration
by Dash Nolan
Post Hoc, Ergo Propter Hoc
by Dash Nolan
Post Hoc, Ergo Propter Hoc
"So, Mr. Sorkin, what brings you to the White House?"
While easily in her early forties, C.J. Cregg moved with the grace of a woman half her age, accentuated by a finely-tuned wit. She was unusually tall, easily able to look Jarod in the eye, yet she was able to retain an undefinable feminine quality.
"Please, just call me Jarod," he responded as he slipped past a frantic intern from the O.E.O.B. across the street. "I've grown tired of the private sector over the past couple of years and have been looking to do something a little more worthwhile. I have to admit, I wasn't expecting the Press Secretary herself to greet me."
C.J. smiled over her shoulder before rounding the corner. She and Jarod were navigating the White House's intricate halls on the way to what the Pretender assumed would be his office. At first he thought the woman was in some sort of hurry, but soon realized from watching other employees in the building that the brisk pace was standard procedure.
"Your resume is impressive, Jarod," she called back to him, reading the employment record while deftly avoiding several collisions. "Three years as head of public relations for the Gage Whitney Pace firm in New York, two years with various NBC affiliates, another four-and-a-half as head of media relations for Kawasaki's American branch?"
Jarod kept the smile from reaching his lips, knowing that the woman would never realize that he had accumulated the impressive record from a week of research on the Internet and a few library rentals.
"I go where I'm needed," he simply returned.
"Well, we could certainly use you here. After a few foul-ups involving everything from hats to ill-tempered golfers, our public image could use some polish."
"I don't think it will take too much work for the people to see the good works being done here."
At this last comment, C.J. came to a halt next to the corner of two intersecting hallways. Jarod instinctively moved up against the nearest wall to avoid another hallway collision.
"I've got to say, that is the first time I've heard anyone in the public relations field talk about "good works.""
"Well, if there aren't any of those around here, I'm sure we can make a few up."
The Press Secretary smiled in return, but didn't laugh as Jarod had expected her to. "You'll fit in just fine, Jarod."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
"Local residents claim they heard three gunshots..."
"...President announced yesterday a new plan..."
"...though police have issued an Amber Alert, they caution..."
"Reports are just coming in that two large trucks collided on..."
Small television monitors hung from the ceiling against the surrounding walls, their screens facing inward toward the office to create a cacophony of constant information. Within the ring of local broadcasts were a series of strangely-positioned desks and filing cabinets. Atop the desks were stacks upon stacks of manila folders pilled high, full of awkwardly-scribbled notes and black-and-white photographs. Men and women, ranging between their late twenties to mid-forties, moved between speaking hurriedly on telephones and writing furiously on yellow legal pads.
Broots and Sydney both stood against one of the large window panes facing the outside hallways and watched the chaos with a quiet appreciation. The aging psychiatrist had already picked out three of the reporters in the room and had been studying their actions intently for nearly twenty minutes. Broots was studying the scene as well, though not nearly as scientifically, having fallen victim to the awe of the modern news room.
Meanwhile, Miss Parker was standing the center of the noisy room, nearly unaffected by the chaos passing her by. Turning toward a pair of reporters to her right, both of whom were nosily chewing away at sticks of gum, the Centre agent resumed her mental count of how long she had lasted without a tobacco hit. Her timer had just reached fifty-three minutes, a personal best for the week.
"Sorry to keep you waiting."
Miss Parker faced the older African-American man as he approached her from an office on the other side of the room. His name was Isaac Jaffee, and he held the position of News Director at the Maryland NBC station Miss Parker had tracked Jarod's trail to. Held beneath Mr. Jaffee's arm were three sizable books and a familiar red notebook. Upon spotting the notebook, Sydney made his way over to Miss Parker, Broots quickly following.
"This is everything that he left," asked Miss Parker, her voice revealing her impatience.
The News Director handed her the stack of books without warning. She accepted them only long enough to hand them off to Sydney.
"Besides a Pez dispenser, that's everything he left," Jaffee said. "He never brought in the typical things our previous Assistant News Directors schlepped into their offices. It's like he knew he wouldn't be here for long."
Sydney and Broots began to examine the thick books as he continued. "It's funny, I've never seen someone take the job in stride like he did. It was as if he'd been working here for ten years after his first four or five days."
"You don't say," responded Parker with her perfected insincere smile.
"Yeah. A week into the job and he had already busted up a pretty intricate scam the reporters from this and the other local stations were running. I couldn't believe my ears when he came to me talking about three of our top investigative reporters working with others to prevent news of local robberies from going to broadcast. But damned if Jarod didn't have footage of the guys admitting to every part of the scheme."
Miss Parker could almost feel Sydney's smile from over her shoulder. She knew that every time the old shrink heard about Jarod righting one society's little wrongs, he felt a little less guilty for practically robbing the Pretender of a childhood. It was vicarious vindication, and Miss Parker often found herself wondering if it was keeping her from getting Jarod back into a Centre sim lab.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Jaffee," Parker said before turning toward her two teammates. "Well, what has the lab rat been studying in the ways of this time?"
Syndey offered her the books, which she took one-at-a-time, naming them aloud as she did.
""Blunders of Modern Media", "The People's Eyes and Ears", and "Communicating With the Masses"."
"I already went through the red notebook. All it contains are the news clippings from the conspiracy Mr. Jaffee over there was discussing with you."
"So what, your little prodigy wants to be the next Brokaw?"
Sydney leaned closer to his female accomplice so as to be heard as he spoke quieter. "This was more of a learning experience than Jarod's last two positions. He was most likely using this to ready himself for a larger, more intense job in a related field."
"This doesn't help, Syd. He left clues to a job he already had. Where the hell do we go from here?"
Sydney began to answer, but was cut-off as he spotted Mr. Jaffee approaching with another book in his grasp.
"I was doing one last check of Jarod's office and found this in the back of his desk drawer."
Miss Parker was about to lash out at the News Director for having missed the book the first time, but a quick glance from Sydney as he accepted the book kept her from striking. Broots was the first to get a good look at the last piece of evidence.
""Power Plays: Making It Happen In the Boardroom and On the Hill". What does that mean, "on the hill"?"
Parker snatched the thick book from the programmer's grasp and a sly smile crept across her glossed lips.
"I know where Jarod is."
