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A Firing Offense

David Ignatius
Chapters (57)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. Prologue
  6. I: PARIS (MAY–JULY 1994)
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. II: WASHINGTON (JANUARY–MARCH 1996)
  16. 9
  17. 10
  18. 11
  19. 12
  20. 13
  21. 14
  22. 15
  23. 16
  24. 17
  25. 18
  26. 19
  27. III: WASHINGTON–BEIJING (MARCH–MAY 1996)
  28. 20
  29. 21
  30. 22
  31. 23
  32. 24
  33. 25
  34. 26
  35. 27
  36. 28
  37. 29
  38. 30
  39. IV: WASHINGTON–BOSTON–MONTREAL (MAY–JULY 1996)
  40. 31
  41. 32
  42. 33
  43. 34
  44. 35
  45. 36
  46. 37
  47. 38
  48. 39
  49. 40
  50. 41
  51. 42
  52. V: SANTA ROSA, CALIFORNIA (OCTOBER 1996)
  53. 43
  54. Acknowledgments
  55. Author’s Note
  56. Praise
  57. Also by David Ignatius

Cover

Image

Title Page

DAVID IGNATIUS

A FIRING

OFFENSE

A NOVEL

W. W. NORTON & COMPANY

NEW YORK     LONDON

Dedication

Dedication

For my parents, Paul and Nancy Ignatius

Epigraph

Epigraph

Reporters should not ordinarily engage in outside activities and jobs. That is especially true of connections with government, which compromise the newspaper’s fundamental mission of independence and objectivity. Any deliberate violation of this policy will be regarded as a firing offense.

—THE NEW YORK MIRROR HANDBOOK ON STYLE

Prologue

Prologue

A FUNERAL

MAY 1996

Arthur Bowman’s funeral was a Washington event, as finely choreographed as Bowman could have wished. It was held at St. John’s Church, an austere structure across Lafayette Square from the White House. The church was almost full. The vice president was there, along with four members of the cabinet and several dozen senators and congressmen. They were sitting up front near the family, but for once they were the passive observers, and we, the journalists, were the real actors. The whole of the newspaper seemed to have gathered. The publisher and the executive editor and the demigods had flown down from New York, but hundreds of others had come, too—reporters, copy editors, assignment editors, news aides—all the ranks in our newspaper army.

I was sitting in the front row between Edwin Weiss, the executive editor, and Philip Sellinger, the publisher. Weiss had asked me to read something at the funeral. I was the last person from the newspaper to have seen Arthur Bowman before he died in Beijing, and I had accompanied his body back to Washington. The executive editor said it would symbolize continuity at the paper: a beloved colleague departing, the younger generation ready to take over.

As we waited for the service to start, you could hear a low buzz in the church, gaining in intensity as the minutes passed, as people leaned toward each other to share bits of Washington gossip, trade information, discuss the personalities who were there and those who weren’t. By the time the rector rose from his chair and walked to the lectern, the sound was almost a roar.