She could feel Stanley draw himself into an invisible snit on the side table. He’d wanted Vera to be vague about this, and here, best reporter in the Room had of course asked the question, clearly and affably. “She has all the pages relevant to Potomac Pilot,” Stanley told Harriet hurriedly. She looked at him as if he were a spaniel. “Potomac Pilot?” she followed up.

“We need Don. You see, this is why Don should be here.” Adam glared, putting down the glass piece on his desk.

“Vera,” Harriet tried again.

“I have the report,” Vera said. She wouldn’t lie. She’d made that promise to herself. She was sticking. From the desire of being honored, deliver me.

“Vera and I,” began the National projects editor, wanting to mark out his territory, which was Vera, in all her iffy new importance. Stanley had been consigned to nosebleed seats weeks ago. Vera’s reporting and writing were now under the hot-ticket supervision of this man, who’d spent the last many weeks apologizing for not talking to her. “Vera and I had to make a decision early on, which we did, and that was that we would be creating more problems than we could solve if we tried to fully parse the report.”

“I’d like to see it,” Harriet said. Vera knew that would happen. How Stanley had imagined it would not, she failed to see. From the desire of being praised.

“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.