Addis looked away from the set. In his mind, he saw the reporter in the bar. It was days after Hynes-Pierce had broken the story, the chaos of the Chicago convention was done. In the afternoon. No other customers were present. They exchanged greetings, and Hynes-Pierce quickly got to the point: “And your question, it is?”

“Who first put you on the Blue Ridge story?”

“That would be revealing a source.”

“Yes, I know.”

“And you know that’s against the rules.”

“And I know you’re going to tell me.”

Addis waited for him.

“I doubt you will believe me.”

“I think I will.”

Hynes-Pierce ordered a gin and tonic.

“Your friend Sal Conditt, chief of staff to your other friend, Senator Hugh Palmer.”

Addis tried to hide his surprise.

“Why?”

“At first, I couldn’t really say. Nor could I fathom why he would have any information on said transaction. But you don’t look at what’s behind a leak now, do you? Not in this town. If we did, all us hacks would be on the dole.”

“But …”

“Then Mr. Conditt shared the phone numbers of calls you had made to Louisiana, and I concluded that he was fronting for colleagues of yours at Casa Blanca and that Senor Kelly was conducting this orchestra. Mumfries may well have have been in a position of familiarity with certain secrets of Margaret’s clan. And is there anything Mumfries knows that is not shared with his very own Sancho Panza?”

Hynes-Pierce paused, as if to permit Addis to absorb the information.

“Now, with Governor Pratt the likely but unelectable opponent, the Mumfries band could take a cut at President Hanover and not have to worry about losing the White House. Merely hobble him. After all, would a decade-old land matter mean so much? As you know, it’s a tradition in this town: Presidents leak disparaging information on their seconds so as to seem grander in comparison; the number twos do the same to their masters to cause their own value to be enhanced. But the leaks, of course, are supposed to be pinpricks, not on-the-nose punches. In this case, I would wager that operation occurred at what you call the staff level—between Mr. Kelly and Mr. Conditt, with their respective barons out of the proverbial loop.”

Hynes-Pierce sipped his gin and tonic. A drop ran down the side of his mouth toward his chin. He caught it with his tongue.