“Have a look for yourself.”
Forbes opened the envelope and rifled inside, pulling out some color photos. He took a few moments to digest what he was seeing. All of a sudden, he felt as if his world had imploded. Intimate pictures of him with Karen Feinstein. He looked through the five photos.
“She looks like good company too. Do you know how I got those photos?”
Forbes gripped the chair, as if the room had started to sway. He felt light-headed. But instead of answering, he just sat, mute, lost in a bad dream.
“These photos were couriered from the national security desk of the New York Times. They received these from an unknown email address in Oman. Clearly not where they came from. Can you explain how these came to be? And who is this woman?”
Forbes’s gut reaction was to leave the room and call his father. His father always sorted things out for him. His father had instilled in him that, above duty to country and president, family was everything. He ran through his mental list of evasions, whether he should try and bluster his way out of the situation. Maybe he should just take the Fifth.
“Are you refusing to answer? Is that it, Andrew? You won’t be leaving here until I have an idea of what the hell is going on. Who is the woman? Why is the New York Times getting photos of you and her? How have you been compromised? Because if you have been compromised, this reflects on the President’s judgment. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I can make this easy. I can make this go away, but you have to be up-front with me, son.”
Forbes steeled himself, like a freight train was careering in his head. “I understand, sir.”
“You see, there is one other thing I have to consider. Actually, it’s the obvious thing.”
“What’s that, sir?”
“That this is a honey trap. And you have been sharing information. Classified information with this woman. Do you understand that this means you are prime blackmail material with these photos? Was she a Russian spy? Was she working for the Chinese? A million and one possible explanations. Maybe she has a different agenda. I don’t know.”
Forbes nodded, as if reflecting on what he’d been told. He thought about who had set him up. The photos had been taken in a hotel room. Had the room been bugged? Who would spy on him?
His mind flashed back to how he had gotten involved with Feinstein in the first place. It began with a meeting with the President. The Commander in Chief had just been elected and was finding his feet. Three months in, late one night, the President visited Andrew in his office. He confided in Andrew how stressful the job was, how much pressure he was under, day and night. He spoke of the long-standing affair with his mistress, Sophie Meyer. She had grown increasingly erratic, threatening to go to the press. It was causing him problems. I trust you, Andrew. That’s what he had said. I know people, Andrew. But they can’t make this go away. I might have to resign. Can you reach out to your father? He’s a man I trust. Andrew said he would speak face-to-face with his father. He met up with his father at his club on the Upper East Side and told him everything. His father made a call and told him to return to Washington and await instructions. Twenty-four hours later, a friend of his father’s—Jason Iverson, a New York attorney—took Andrew for lunch at a fancy restaurant on Capitol Hill and handed him a card for the services of Fein Solutions. A personal referral to Karen Feinstein. Her firm dealt with such matters.
“Do you understand the severity of this?” The voice of Skinner snapped him back to the harsh reality of the present.
Forbes nodded, struggling to wrap his head around it.
“We’ll find out who she is. Might take an hour. Maybe a day. And then we’ll piece this thing together. You either come clean now, or we start making inquiries. Things can get messy.”
Forbes squirmed. His gaze fixed on the framed photo on the desk: Skinner with the President.
“We serve, Andrew. It’s an honor to serve your country and your president.”
“I love my country. And I will do anything to serve the President.”
“I know that’s true; I’m sure you’ll make the right call.”
“Does anyone at the White House know about this? Does the President?”
Skinner solemnly shook his head. “I thought you had a girlfriend, Andrew.”
Forbes nodded. “I do.”
“Jenny Sinclair, if my memory serves me right. Are you serious about her?”
“We’re taking it slow.”
“I’m guessing her father wouldn’t be too happy if he saw such uncensored pictures on Twitter? Or if such photos were mentioned in certain salacious tabloid magazines. You know the type I’m talking about?”