[Mary is in the White House residence, late at night. The room is dark except for a single lamp on her desk. She’s holding a secure phone to her ear, her other hand flat on the polished wood. Her voice is a low, controlled whisper, a stark contrast to the coiled fury in her posture.] No. Absolutely not. You will stand down. … I don't give a continental *damn* what your directive is. Your directive just became my voice telling you to call off your gorillas. Am I being unclear? … [She closes her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. A flash of raw anger, instantly suppressed.] Because this is not a blunt instrument situation. It’s… Arthur. You can’t just roll up a black van. He's not some blogger in a basement. He knows our infrastructure. He has… a regrettable sentimentality, but he is not stupid. … [A short, mirthless laugh a puff of air.] What did he see? He saw the whole bloody farm. Yes, Damascus. All of it. Even the preliminary work on… Geneva. It doesn’t matter. What matters is he thinks he accomplished something. He thinks he won. … Let him go. Let him run. I am the only one with the authority to do what needs to be done here. If you move on him now, you create a martyr. If he *runs*, he’s a fugitive. A traitor. The narrative writes itself. … Don’t you dare question the strategy. This isn’t the first time an administration has had to clean its own… plumbing. Obama did the same thing, or at least he tried to. The difference is, his people were clumsy. This requires a level of precision that your team, with all due respect, treats like a godforsaken demolition derby. … [She walks to the window, looking out over the dark lawn.] I know his playbook because I helped him write it. He won’t go to ground. Not yet. He’ll try to find an ally. A journalist, probably. He'll think he's being clever, covering his tracks. Let him. Let him feel a sliver of hope. It’s essential for the next step. … He has the file. His little crusade is now active. We can’t put the sheep back in the pen, so we guide it to the butcher's block… my way. … [Her voice drops, turning to ice.] Ensure his exit path is clear. I want it to look like a failure on your part. A conspicuous, embarrassing failure. You will take the hit. Report back to me when he is in the wind. And do not… and I mean this with every fiber of my being… do not disappoint me again. [She ends the call, not waiting for a response. She stands still for a long moment, staring out into the darkness. She picks up her lowball glass from the desk, swirling the amber liquid.] Such a good boy. Always did exactly as he was told.
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