All of those stories, including mine, had required information from “knowledgeable” sources. The White House had sprung a leak, and steps were being taken to prevent it from sinking. Which is why the phone call I received didn’t much surprise me.

“Mr. Stone?” She had a pleasantly officious voice. “Secretary McCord would…”

“Rollie!” Rip interrupted, picking up the phone. “Thank you, Michele, I got it.” He waited a beat as his assistant hung up. “I’ve been reading your stories this week.”

I couldn’t tell if that was supposed to be a compliment or a threat.

“You guys are doing a great job there.” I was waiting for some kind of busting-balls comment, but it didn’t come. “So I was hoping you might be able to help me out.”

Here’s another dirty secret from the wonderful world of journalism. We respected quid pro quos even before Trump made them popular. If we owe favors and we can repay them without compromising ethics or personal integrity, we do. Rip was somewhere on my list.

“If I can. What do you need?” I heard a soft whir as Mighty Chair began recording.

“A little patriotism, actually. Off the record, I need you to help us protect America.” I looked at the phone and grimaced. That was not the McCord I’d known. Even he had to be embarrassed hearing those words coming out of his mouth. I had no doubt he was taking one for the team.

I didn’t say a word. I waited for him to fill the uncomfortable silence.

“Listen, man,” he finally said in a whispered, conspiratorial tone. “There are things going on here that I can’t tell you about. But you’d be doing both of us a big favor if you believed us on this one.”

There. I finally figured it out. My stories about the Detroit debacle had touched some Very Important President’s nerve. “I’d be happy to quote you, Rip,” I offered. “Just put this conversation on record.”

McCord laughed. “Right. C’mon, Stoney, gimme a break here. You know I can’t do that.”

Stoney? Stoney? Are you frigging kidding me? He’d been spending far too much time with the same glad-handers we used to laugh at. “Just between you and me and the NSA, Rip, give me a hint. What’s really going on here? We both know Detroit is bullshit. Those people didn’t have dick to do with 7/11.”

For the first time I heard a hint of desperation in his voice. “If I could tell you, I would. You know I’ve always been straight with you. I can tell you that there are a lot of moving pieces, but I promise you, if you stick with us on this one, I’ll make it up to you big-time.” Ping went one of the strings of my heart. I actually felt a little sorry for him, at least until he added, “And by the way, you’re wrong. We’ve got money transfers, plane tickets.” His voice actually got strained as he lied, “It was no coincidence Hassan was in the tunnel, I promise you that. Just do us both a favor and get on board this train. You really don’t want it leaving the station without you.”