“And you got through every MEMCON that was in Records Management?” Simon asks.

“Yeah. Why?”

“There were over fifteen thousand pages in there.”

Danny L. doesn’t skip a beat. “So?”

Simon shakes his head, while Pam leans over to pat Danny L. on the back. “You’re my hero,” she tells him. “You really are.”

As the laughter dies down, I continue to fight my panic. Simon’s enjoying himself too much. That doesn’t bode well for what he was doing in the woods. At first, I liked to think he was a victim. Now I’m not so sure.

My mind churns through the possibilities as Pam takes her turn. The associate in charge of background checks for judicial appointments, Pam knows all the dirt about our country’s future judges. “We have about three that should be ready for announcement by the end of the week,” she explains, “including Stone for the Ninth Circuit.”

“What about Gimbel?” Simon asks.

“On the D.C. Circuit? He’s one of the three. I’m waiting for some final paperw-”

“So everything checks out with him? No problems?” Simon interrupts in a skeptical tone.

Something’s wrong. He’s setting Pam up.

“As far as I know, there’re no problems,” Pam says hesitantly. “Why?”

“Because at the Senior Staff meeting this morning, someone told me there are rumors floating around that Gimbel had an illegitimate child with one of his old secretaries. Apparently, he’s been sending them hush money for years.”

The consequences quickly sink in. As the room falls silent, all eyes turn toward Pam. Simon’s going to hammer her on this one. “We’ve got an election that’s two months away,” he begins, his tone unnervingly composed, “and a President who just signed major legislation against deadbeat dads. So what do we do for an encore? We tell the world that Hartson’s current judicial candidate has intimate knowledge of our newest law.” Across the room, I see Julian and a few others laugh. “Don’t even snicker,” Simon warns. “In all the time I’ve been here, I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen all three branches of government collide so embarrassingly.”

“I’m sorry,” Pam says. “He never mentioned anything abou-”

“Of course he didn’t mention it-that’s why it’s called a background check.” Simon’s voice remains calm, but he’s losing his patience. He must’ve taken plenty of heat in Senior Staff to be this worked up-and with Bartlett’s campaign slowly closing in, all the bigshots are on edge. “Isn’t that your job, Ms. Cooper? Isn’t that the point?”

“Take it easy, Edgar,” a female voice interrupts. I turn to my right and see Caroline Penzler wagging a finger from the couch. Dressed in a cheap wool blazer despite the warm weather, the heavyset Caroline is Pam’s supervisor on nominations. She’s also one of the few people in the room who’s not afraid of Simon. “If Gimbel kept it quiet and there’s no paper trail, it’s almost impossible for us to know.”

Appreciating the save, Pam nods a silent thank-you to her mentor.

Still, Simon’s unimpressed. “She didn’t ask the right questions,” he blasts at Caroline. “That’s the only reason it went through your legs.”

Caroline shoots an angry look at Simon. There’s a long history between these two. When Hartson first got elected, they were both up for the Counsel top spot. Caroline was a friend of the First Lady. She lobbied hard, but Simon won. And the white boys ruled. “Maybe you’re not appreciating the process,” Caroline says. “There’s a difference between asking the hard questions and asking every question under the sun.”

“In an election year, there’s no difference. You know how opinions run-every little detail gets magnified. Which means every question’s an important question!”

“I know how to do my job!” Caroline explodes.

“That’s clearly up for debate,” Simon growls back.

Refusing to let Caroline take the fall, Pam jumps back in. “Sir, I appreciate what you’re saying, but I’ve been calling him for days. He keeps saying he’s-”

“I don’t want to hear it. If Gimbel doesn’t have the time, he doesn’t have the nomination. Besides, he’s a friend of the President. For that reason alone, he’ll sit for the questions.”

“I tried, but he-”

“He’s a friend of the President. He understands.”

Before Pam can respond, someone else says, “That’s not true.” At the other end of the table, Deputy Counsel Lawrence Lamb continues, “He’s not a friend of the President.” A tall, thick man with crystal blue eyes and a long neck that cranes slightly lower from years of hunching over to talk to people, Lawrence Lamb has known President Hartson since their high school days in Florida. As a result, Lamb is one of the President’s closest friends and most trusted advisors. Which means he has what every one of us wants: the President’s ear. And if you have the ear, you have power. So when Lamb tells us that Gimbel isn’t a friend of the President, we know the argument’s over.

“I thought they went to law school together,” Simon persists, trying not to lose face.

“That doesn’t mean he’s a friend,” Lamb says. “Trust me on this one, Edgar.”

Simon nods. It’s over.

“I’ll ask him about the rumors and the child,” Pam finally adds, breaking the silence of the room. “Sorry I missed it.”

“Thank you,” Simon replies. Determined to move on, he turns to me and signals that it’s my turn to present.

Lowering my legal pad, I step forward and tell myself that nothing’s changed. Whatever I saw last night, this is still my moment. “Been working on Justice’s wiretap issue. When it comes right down to it, they want something called roving wiretap authority. Currently, if Justice or the FBI wants to wiretap someone, they can’t just say, ‘Jimmy “The Fist” Machismo is a lowlife, so give us the wiretaps and we’ll set him up.’ Instead, they have to list the exact places where suspicious activity is taking place. If they change the rule and get roving authority, they can be far less specific in their requests and they can put the taps wherever they want.”

Simon runs his fingers along his beard, carefully weighing the issue. “It’s got great tough-on-crime potential.”

“I’m sure it does,” I reply. “But it throws civil liberties out the window.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Julian interrupts. “Put away the tear towel. This should be a no-brainer-endorsed by Justice, endorsed by the FBI, hated by criminals-this issue’s bulletproof.”

“Nothing’s bulletproof,” I shoot back. “And when the New York Times throws this on the front page and says Hartson’s now got the right to eavesdrop in your home, without reasonable suspicion, everyone from the liberal media to the conspiracy conservatives is going to be tearing hair. Just what Bartlett needs. It’s not an issue for an election year, and more important, it’s not right.”

“It’s not right?” Julian laughs.

Pompous political ass. “That’s my opinion. You have a problem with that?”

“Back to your corners,” Simon intercedes, waving us apart. “Michael, we’ll talk about it later. Anything else?”

“Just one. On Tuesday, I got the OMB memo on the new Medicaid overhaul. Apparently, in one of their long-term-care programs, HHS wants to deny benefits to people with criminal records.”

“Another reelection tough-on-crime scheme. It’s amazing how creative we can be when our jobs are on the line.”

I search his eyes, wondering what he means by that. Cautiously, I add, “The problem is, I think it conflicts with the President’s Welfare to Work Program and his rehabilitation stance in the Crime Bill. HHS may think it’s a great way to save cash, but you can’t have it both ways.”

Simon takes a second to think about it. The longer he’s silent, the more he agrees. “Write it up,” he finally says. “I think you may have someth-”

“Here you go,” I interrupt as I pull a two-page memo from my briefcase. “They’re about to go out with it, so I made it a priority.”

“Thanks,” he says as I pass the memo forward. I nod, and Simon casually turns back to the group. He’s accustomed to overachievers.