Back A Firing Offense
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

I felt empty as I walked away from Weiss’s office—a kind of emotional vertigo. I wanted to get away from the Mirror as quickly as I could. A couple of my friends shouted my name as I crossed the newsroom, but I didn’t stop. No banter, no flirting with the copy aides. I wanted to be out of there. By the time I reached the elevators I was almost shaking. I thought at first that I was just worried, that I had blown it in going to see Weiss, that I had said too much, that I had made a career blunder. But that wasn’t it. That way of thinking was causing the empty feeling. By the time I hit the street and felt the cold February air in my lungs, I knew what was wrong.

I was ashamed of what had happened in Weiss’s office. I had lost my nerve. I had come on a mission to tell the truth, and I had let my ambition get in the way. The moment it became clear that Weiss didn’t believe that his friend Arthur Bowman could possibly have done anything wrong, I pretended I agreed with him. I backpedaled; I dissembled. Weiss had described me as a future leader of the newspaper, but I wasn’t a truth teller at all, I was a courtier. My reporting life had devoured the rest of me. All that was left was an observer, a flatterer, a passive chronicler, an ambitious young man.

I called Bob Marcus when I got back to Washington. It was a Friday afternoon. I couldn’t bear the thought of going back to the office that day, but I figured I should at least check in. He’d already heard from Weiss. “I’m glad you’re staying at the Mirror,” he chirped. I mumbled something back. He asked how my reporting on the French-in-China story was going and I said I wasn’t sure, I was just getting started. “Stick with it,” he said. “It’s important!” Weiss must have told him to be nice to me.

Then I called Annie and asked if I could come over to see her that night. I was feeling so low. Maybe I thought that if I could understand what she had once loved in me, then I could isolate that part and act on it. She must have realized that I was in a bad way, because she just said to come by her place at 8:00. She’d fix something to eat.