Not to the White House, he decided. He told her to wait and placed the receiver on the shelf. He asked the hostess if the restaurant had a fax machine. It was broken. The hostess gave Addis the fax number for a copy shop around the corner.

Shit, Addis thought, that’s taking a risk. But there’s no choice.

Addis hurried back to the phone. He recited the number for her.

“And send it to Dana Cummings,” he said.

“Who’s that?”

“An intern in the White House. It’s better that my name not—”

“Sure, hon. You have everything covered, don’t you?”

“Occasionally.”

“Well, here it comes. Enjoy.’Cause after I fax this to you, I’m trashing it. I don’t want it. It’ll be history. Just like Harris.”

“Thanks—” He tried to recall her first name.

She hung up.

“Tracy,” he said.

At the copy shop, a young man with a shaved head and a pierced lip said he could not release the papers to Addis.

“The fax is not in your name,” he sneered. “I can only give it to you if your name is the name on the cover sheet. Store policy.”

“There’s a mistake. I work at the White House. The sender must have put the name of the intern on it.”

“I know where you work. But this is store policy. Even more than that, it’s chain policy. Some dweeb in St. Paul sends us memos on this stuff. You want me to challenge national policy, man?”

The manager came over. Addis explained the situation. The manager shook his head.

“Get the stuff,” he ordered the employee. The young man shuffled off.

“I hope she kicks butt in Chicago,” the manager said.

Addis smiled, and the manager waited for him to say more. When Addis did not, he said, “I sure as hell do.” Addis nodded. He ignored the manager’s look of disappointment.

“I’ll check on him,” the manager said and went to the back.

The counter clerk returned with two dozen pages. Addis paid for them.

“Interesting stuff,” the clerk said. “Let’s hope St. Paul doesn’t find out about this.”

You’re just fucking with me.

“Thanks for your help,” Addis said.

His office was stuffy and hot. The air conditioning was not working well; the door was shut. The documents faxed to him were spread out across his desk. They detailed several real estate transactions. Their meaning was explained in an unsigned, undated memo that Addis presumed had been written by Harris Griffith. That note told the same story that Hynes-Pierce had disclosed to Addis in New Orleans—with more facts.