“We’ll get to that,” Adam said. He seemed to want to have a certain kind of exchange take place but had no power to begin it on his own. It was as if he were helplessly waiting for someone previously instructed to bring in the elephants.

“Where did you get it?” That was Anne. “Why was this source of yours on the ground the night of the crash?” Anne’s questions seemed backed up inside her.

The door opened, and Don Grady walked among them. “My apologies to everyone,” he said in his voice that Vera had only heard on television. He glided to the empty chair. Almost instantly he twisted at the waist and gave Harriet a smile. “Get with me after this,” he mouthed at her.

From the desire of being preferred to others, deliver me, Jesus.

Adam put down the glass piece and sat up.

“Good morning, Don,” he said. Don sidled back and sat down. “Good morning, Adam,” he said, surveying all of them with distracted chagrin. “Gordon!” he whisper-exclaimed. He was about to say more but stopped himself. He started scribbling on a notepad, tore out a sheet, and passed it, folded, to Bray. Bray opened it and did a silent rocking laugh.

Adam stood up.

“Vera’s written a story about a crash we all didn’t pay much attention to when it happened, almost a year ago. I’ll tell you all now what I felt I couldn’t then: I was contacted by the White House about the crash, and told not to publish any story we might write about it. I wasn’t quite sure why that happened. That’s one thing. The other thing is that Vera’s been able to get her hands on a report that we were unable to obtain, and got beaten on, over the course of the last year or so. She’s written something here that shows how that report contains some pertinent information about the crash. Interesting stuff.

“But what we’re here today to do is talk about whether this story is ready for publication. I’ve called on all of you, and any ideas you might want to have.” Vera wasn’t sure that tracked. She saw Adam wasn’t sure either. “But before we do that, I think we need to talk about something that’s pretty much on everybody’s mind, and that is this report.” Vera could see the Metro editor watch-checking. He couldn’t care less about this report. Stanley looked faintly electric. So did Anne, the rookie. Harriet was drinking her coffee steadily, nose in Styrofoam mug. Vera’s new editor looked proudly complacent. The assistant National editor looked as if he saw an opening to be the first one talking, but Vera couldn’t see how, because he was the most out-of-the-loop person on the story. Bray shot Vera a worried look.

“We could have used this report,” the assistant National editor said, moving his knee away from that of Constance, his boss.

Constance, too new to know if this was so, nodded authoritatively.