“No problem.”
“But, Miggie — when did you sleep last?”
“... Day or two ago?”
“Go take a nap on that nice couch in your office. That’s an order.”
Miggie’s expression was just a little mocking. “Technically, I’m just helping out here. You’re not my boss, you know.”
“Then it’s not an order. It’s an earnest request from a caring friend.”
“Now you’re making me sick.”
“Then maybe you better lie down.”
In the hallway, Rogers and Reeder ran into AD Fisk, still in yesterday’s apparel, meaning she’d been here all night as well, though she looked typically perfect. The AD had been on her way to the Special Situations bullpen, having been alerted that Rogers was back in the building.
After a quick update from Rogers, Fisk said, “I’ll call ahead and set up a meeting for you and Joe with the chief of the Capitol police. I’m going to make it for this afternoon, so the two of you can go catch some sleep. But first, there’s something I need Joe to do.”
Reeder frowned a little. “What would that be?”
“I’ve been dealing directly with the media, under the guidance of our top PR officer, of course.”
“Okay.”
“But here’s the thing — I can protect our agents, to some extent, but you’re a consultant, Joe — not technically an employee — and there’s only so much I can do to keep the press away from you.”
He chuckled. “Thanks, but I can handle myself.”
“I know you can. But the reporters did not get the chance to quiz you after the Constitution Hall incident. I spoke to a large group outside the building, not long ago, and they’re already asking questions about Charlottesville — the local police there seem competent enough, but haven’t exactly been discreet.”
“We drove in the building,” Reeder said, “we’ll drive out the building.”
“I prefer you wouldn’t. That same group is waiting now in the press room. I indicated I’d ask you if you were willing to talk to them.”
Reeder’s eyes and nostrils flared like a rearing horse’s. “A press conference?”
“That sounds more formal than I mean it to.”
“Director Fisk,” he said, “as a dollar-a-year man, I reserve the right to pick and choose my assignments.”
“Joe, you and Special Agent Rogers are running our most important current FBI investigation. The media’s going to dog your heels and impede that investigation at every turn, unless you get out ahead of it.”
He turned to Rogers, who said, “You’re on your own. I can’t talk to the media before I deal with a shooting board. Two shooting boards, now.”
Fisk said, “She’s correct, Joe.”
“Okay,” he sighed. “I don’t suppose you could find me a shaver, safety or electric, and somewhere I can throw some water on my face? Unless you enjoy having somebody who looks like a homeless guy representing the Bureau.”
“Give me your sizes,” Fisk said with a smile, “and I’ll get you fresh clothes as well.”
“You’re a full-service operation, I’ll give you that.”
All of that was done, and quickly. Rogers took advantage of freshening up, too, and she had extra clothes in her office closet. As she’d pointedly told Reeder, she would not be taking questions, but would have eyes and cameras on her.
Soon she, Reeder, and Fisk were in a room the size of the task force bullpen, filled with chairs, all taken by reporters who looked as harried and sleep-deprived as Rogers felt, with TV cameras along the side walls and in back.
The AD introduced Reeder, then joined Rogers behind him at his podium. When Reeder stepped to the microphone, Rogers half expected the press to leap to their feet and frantically pelt him with questions. They leapt to their feet, all right, but what they gave him was applause.
“Thank you,” he said, looking surprised and frankly humbled, and said, “I’ll take a few questions.”
Rogers smiled. He knew how to silence their applause. They resumed their seats and hands shot up.
Reeder pointed.
“Mr. Reeder,” a Fox News reporter asked, “some years ago you took a bullet for your president. Last year, you saved the life of the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. Now you’ve prevented the assassination of a possible candidate for the presidency. That’s an impressive trifecta.”
Some laughter.
“Would you care to comment?”
Reeder said, “I prefer to call it a hat trick. It depresses me to think I made a trifecta and didn’t put any money down.”
More laughter.
“Frankly,” Reeder said, in the affable yet unreadable manner he reserved for the media, “I didn’t prevent an assassination last night. I played a secondary role, but my friend and associate, Special Agent Patti Rogers, really prevented the tragedy through her quick-thinking action. And, no, you can’t talk to her, because there are internal FBI procedures that must be addressed first.”
No laughter at all.
“In the case of President Bennett, I was doing my job. As for the Chief Justice, I was working at the time as a consultant with the FBI... hired through my ABC Security, if I might inject a brief commercial message... so that was doing my job as well. Last night, I was attending a political rally as a private citizen, and I also did my job, as any citizen would — I saw someone in trouble and tried to help. And really, that’s all I’d like to say about it at this time. I’ve been up for some hours and, in fact, I’m pretty sure I’m hallucinating this press conference. Thank you.”
He began to step away from the podium and a woman from MSNBC called out: “Mr. Reeder, is it true you’re working with the FBI on another case?”
He returned to the mic. “I’m working with the FBI as a consultant on a matter, yes.”
“Could you elaborate?”
“No.”
Another reporter asked, “Were you in Charlottesville at the site of an industrial explosion last night?”
“Yes.”
“Is that part of the FBI investigation you’re attached to as a consultant?”
“I was at the scene in my consultant role. Now if you don’t mind—”
A voice called out, “Are you a supporter of Adam Benjamin’s assumed bid for the presidency?”
“My politics are private. I made the mistake of going public with political opinions, once, and decided never again.”
That got a few laughs, particularly from older members of the press.
Another shouted question: “Mr. Reeder, you were right there, on that stage — anyone watching could easily take that as support for Mr. Benjamin.”
“I was there because I was invited. I was interested in hearing what Adam Benjamin had to say. But it’s not my practice to endorse candidates for office.”
From the back came: “Do you think your implied support played a role in Benjamin’s surge in the presidential polls?”
“I wasn’t aware of any such surge. I was busy last night.”
Rogers was also unaware of that. Of course, she’d been busy, too...
“Yes,” the reporter said. “Polls have Benjamin pulling even with all the major potential Republican candidates and only a few percentage points behind President Harrison.”
“Meaning no disrespect,” Reeder said, “these political matters are not of much interest to me right now. My friend Jay Akers, a former Secret Service agent, a good man, was killed last night. My thoughts, like my prayers, are with his family during this terrible loss.”
Apparently unmoved, another reporter called out: “Do you think Mr. Benjamin will announce his candidacy at his press conference?”
“I didn’t even know he was holding a press conference.”
“Yes, on the Capitol steps this afternoon.”