“You can’t print it.”
She looked at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“Leslie, a story like this is too big to just—I mean the facts have to be checked and rechecked—”
“And rechecked again until it becomes a headline in The Washington Post? No, thank you. I’m not going to lose this one.”
“You can’t accuse the President of the United States of murder without—”
Leslie smiled. “I’m not going to, Matt. All we have to do is print the fact that there is a warrant for his arrest. That’s enough to destroy him.”
“Senator Davis—”
“—is turning in his own son-in-law. He believes the president is guilty. He told me so.”
“That’s not enough. We’ll verify it first, and—”
“With whom—Katharine Graham? Are you out of your mind? We run this right now, or we lose it.”
“I can’t let you do this, not without verifying everything that—”
“Who do you think you’re talking to? This is my paper, and I’ll do anything I like with it.”
Matt Baker rose. “This is irresponsible. I won’t let any of my people write this story.”
“They don’t have to. I’ll write it myself.”
“Leslie, if you do this, I’m leaving. For good.”
“No, you’re not, Matt. You and I are going to share a Pulitzer Prize.” She watched him turn and walk out of the office. “You’ll be back.”
Leslie pressed down the intercom button. “Have Zoltaire come in here.”
She looked at him and said, “I want to know my horoscope for the next twenty-four hours.”
“Yes, Miss Stewart. I’ll be happy to do that.” From his pocket, Zoltaire took a small ephemeris, the astrological bible, and opened it. He studied the positions of the stars and the planets for a moment, and his eyes widened.
“What is it?”
Zoltaire looked up. “I—something very important seems to be happening.” He pointed to the ephemeris. “Look. Transiting Mars is going over your ninth house Pluto for three days, setting off a square to your—”
“Never mind that,” Leslie said impatiently. “Cut to the chase.”
He blinked. “The chase? Ah, yes.” He looked at the book again. “There is some kind of major event happening. You are in the middle of it. You’re going to be even more famous than you are now, Miss Stewart. The whole world is going to know your name.”
Leslie was filled with a feeling of intense euphoria. The whole world was going to know her name. She was at the awards ceremonies and the speaker was saying, “And now, the recipient of this year’s Pulitzer Prize for the most important story in newspaper history. I give you Miss Leslie Stewart.” There was a standing ovation, and the roar was deafening.
“Miss Stewart…”
Leslie shook away the dream.
“Will there be anything else?”
“No,” Leslie said. “Thank you, Zoltaire. That’s enough.”
At seven o’clock that evening, Leslie was looking at a proof of the story she had written. The headline read: MURDER WARRANT SERVED ON PRESIDENT RUSSELL. PRESIDENT ALSO TO BE QUESTIONED IN INVESTIGATION OF SIX DEATHS.
Leslie skimmed her story under it and turned to Lyle Bannister, her managing editor. “Run it,” she said. “Put it out as an extra. I want it to hit the streets in an hour, and WTE can broadcast the story at the same time.”
Lyle Bannister hesitated. “You don’t think Matt Baker should take a look at—?”
“This isn’t his paper, it’s mine. Run it. Now.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He reached for the telephone on Leslie’s desk and dialed a number. “We’re going with it.”
At seven-thirty that evening, Barbara Gatlin and the others in the group were preparing to return to the White House. Barbara Gatlin said heavily, “I hope to God it isn’t going to be necessary to use it, but just to be prepared, I’m bringing the warrant for the president’s arrest.”
Thirty minutes later, Oliver’s secretary said, “Attorney General Gatlin and the others are here.”
“Send them in.”
Oliver watched, pale-faced, as they walked into the Oval Office. Jan was at his side, holding his hand tightly.
Barbara Gatlin said, “Are you prepared to answer our questions now, Mr. President?”
Oliver nodded. “I am.”
“Mr. President, did Chloe Houston have an appointment to see you on October fifteenth?”