ACT ONE
INT. JOSH'S OFFICE—FRIDAY MORNING
"*Bob* sent you?" Josh repeated as he escorted Hubert Kaplan into his office.
"Yes," Kaplan replied. "I'm an old friend of Bob's. His brother David and I were roommates in college."
Okay, Josh thought, that would explain how Kaplan knew Toby Ziegler, but it didn't solve the mystery of how Kaplan had gotten on the White House Chief of Staff's schedule and past security.
"Excuse me a minute," Josh said, pivoting on his heels and heading back to Margaret's desk.
"Something wrong?" Margaret asked.
"Yes. No." Josh tried to think of a subtle way to ask the question that was bothering him. "This guy in
my office says he's a friend of...uh, this friend of mine..."
Margaret nodded. "*Bob.*"
"Yeah. My friend Bob. Last time I talked to Bob, he didn't mention this guy, so who exactly made the
appointment?"
"I did," Margaret replied. "You're not the only friend *Bob* has in this building, you know."
Visions of subpoenas dancing in his head, Josh stared at Margaret in disbelief. "You talk to Bob?" he
finally asked.
Margaret lowered her head. "*Bob* and I have been in touch since election night."
"Election night?" The truth suddenly dawned on Josh. "He called you when Leo died."
Margaret nodded.
A moment of silence passed between them, and then Margaret spoke. "I called *Bob* a few weeks ago."
"Why?"
"He has pre-schoolers," Margaret said, as though that explained everything.
"What? The guy in my office is Huck's nanny?"
If Margaret's exasperated expression was any indication, Josh thought, he'd overlooked some painfully obvious point. "I have a child," she said.
"We've met. He threw a handful of Trix at me."
"Cheerios," Margaret corrected. "Anyway, I called *Bob* and asked if he could recommend a pre-school."
"I'd have paid good money to see his face when you asked him that," Josh said, shaking his head in bewilderment.
"He was very helpful," Margaret replied. "So when he called last night and asked if I could get Dr. Kaplan in to see you today, of course I said yes."
"Of course."
Margaret glared at her boss. "After all, Josh, it's not as though *Bob* would send someone to see you if it wasn't important."
"You know, people are going to start catching on if you keep saying his name like that."
"Like what?"
"Like it's the secret password to unlock the nuclear missiles."
"I already know the password." Margaret shrugged. "It's not *Bob.*"
Finding his point was lost on his assistant, Josh returned to his office. To his surprise, Hubert Kaplan had taken several charts from his briefcase and spread them out on Josh's desk.
"We don't have a moment to lose, Mr. Lyman," Kaplan explained as Josh stared at the items on his desk. "The country's facing a natural disaster of massive proportions."
CUT TO:
INT. DONNA'S OFFICE
"Do *you* want to sit her down and tell her she comes off as cold on television?" Annabeth asked.
"I don't *want* to, but one of us has to do it," Donna replied. "And since you're her press secretary..."
Annabeth huffed. "All right. But you should be in the room."
"It'll look like we're ganging up on her." Donna fiddled with the pen in her hand as she talked. She stopped abruptly when she realized that the gesture was characteristic of Josh. Great, she thought. Some couples start to look like each other; *I* end up picking up my boyfriend's nervous mannerisms.
"We *are* ganging up on her." Annabeth walked to the side table and poured a glass of water. "What bothers me is, well, she comes off as aloof sometimes. Especially when she's reading a prepared statement. That's not her personality at all, but..."
"She doesn't like the spotlight." Donna stood up and joined Annabeth at the table. Reaching for the pitcher, she continued, "A year ago, she thought President Santos would be back in private life. She never imagined any of this—" She waved a hand to indicate the general grandeur of the East Wing—"and it makes her uncomfortable. Which sometimes translates into that aloof manner."
"She's passionate about the subject, though. That should help," Annabeth replied as she took a seat across from Donna's desk. "And deciding to move the press conference out of FDA headquarters and into the women's health center was an excellent move on your part. The more relaxed atmosphere should help."
"It came to me at the last tour Mrs. Santos did at the
"Our big problem will be avoiding the question," Annabeth pointed out.
Donna returned to her desk. "There is absolutely no good answer to the question."
"It's inevitable, though," Annabeth said. "The vaccine is for a sexually transmitted virus, and the FDA is recommending that girls as young as 10 be vaccinated. Name one reporter who isn't going to ask whether Miranda Santos will be getting the vaccine when she's old enough."
"Thank god for the Secret Service. At least they'll be able to get Mrs. Santos out of there before the
reporters can ask the question. Then all we have to do is craft an answer before her interview with Katie Couric next week."
"We need to put together an answer that's truthful but doesn't bring the religious right down on our heads."
Donna sighed. "Yeah, that's an easy task."
CUT TO:
INT. SAM'S OFFICE
Sam Seaborn wasn't sure why he was feeling so guilty. After all, it wasn't as though Ainsley was an ex-girlfriend. He'd never slept with her; they'd never kissed; they'd never even had a date, unless you extended the definition of "date" to include eating cold take-out and spending hours of arguing over the wording of a legal brief.
Still, she was Ainsley. And he had to admit that there'd always been an attraction there. On his part,
anyway.
He couldn't even remember if he'd ever mentioned Ainsley's name to Lauren. Or whether Lauren would
care that he would be traveling with a woman he was attracted to. Had been attracted to. Once. Before he'd met Lauren.
Lauren wasn't the jealous type. Still, he'd never understood why Josh's girlfriends didn't go ballistic whenever they saw Josh and Donna together. After all, some things were painfully obvious.
Not that he and Ainsley were anything like Josh and Donna. There had never been that level of intimacy between them.
Okay, so there had been times when he'd teased Ainsley about dancing around her office in a bathrobe. Or when they'd worked late, and Ainsley had fallen asleep with her head on his shoulder.
But Lauren had worked with some attractive guys. She understood that a little bit of flirtation happened.
Didn't she?
The longer he stared out the window, debating whether he was morally obligated to tell Lauren that he was traveling with Ainsley, the more confused Sam became. He reached for the phone twice to call his fiancée, pulling his hand back each time as though he had touched a hot stove. A discreet cough brought him out of his reverie.
Lou's deputy was standing in Sam's doorway.
"Lou thought it would be a good idea if you checked—"
Sam motioned for Otto to take a seat.
"Can I ask you a personal question?" Sam said.
Otto, looking confused, nodded.
"Have you ever been involved with someone you worked with?"
Otto gulped. "I don't know what you've been told," he said, "but it was—"
"Not involved, even. Just, you know, been attracted to someone."
"Uh, okay, attracted, yeah. That happens."
"So, hypothetically, the person you're with now—"
"I'm not exactly—"
"Imagine she doesn't know anything about this attraction. Which is strictly in the past, by the way. Hypothetically. And you're about to go on a business trip with this person you were once attracted to. Should you tell the woman you love about it?"
Otto's brow furrowed, as though composing the right answer took intense concentration. "No," he finally said. "Don't tell her."
"Why not?"
"There's no upside to it. Not for you or for her. She'll worry needlessly. You'll feel guilty over nothing. It's a lose/lose situation."
Sam nodded. "That makes sense."
"Unless—"
"Unless what?" Sam asked.
"Well, if it's not really over," Otto pointed out, "you sort of have an obligation to let your fiancée know. I mean, that's only fair."
Sam stared in bewilderment at the younger man for a moment. "Who said anything about my fiancée?"
CUT TO:
INT. JOSH'S OFFICE
"A natural disaster," Josh asked. "Where?"
"
"Mount
Hubert Kaplan rolled his eyes. "What other
"Who the hell are you?"
"I'm a geoscientist with the USGS, Mr. Lyman," Kaplan explained. "I've been studying
Josh pointed at the stacks of papers on his desk. "And these charts are proof of that?"
"They are. You can see here that there's an increased level of volcanic activity in the region. Hell, forget the graphs. Call anybody who lives in the area and ask. They can tell you that we've been dealing with tremors for more than two months."
Josh thought back to the conversation he and Donna had had with Senator McBain during the inaugural balls. "But tremors don't necessarily mean the volcano's going to erupt, right?"
"In this case, that's exactly what it means. The number of earthquakes recorded over the past three
days has reached peak levels. There've been 178 shocks with magnitudes greater than 2.6, which is four more than we had before she blew on May 18, 1980." He pointed to a photograph. "Aerial observations of
Josh swallowed hard.
"When she blows," Kaplan continued, "the result will be a major disaster, the likes of which we haven't seen in 25 years. We're talking about hundreds, maybe thousands, of people dying. And the general population doesn't know it's coming. They're going about their everyday business out there, completely unaware that they're about to re-enact the last days of
Josh thought back to the news coverage he'd seen in 1980. He had dim recollections of rescue efforts, people covered in ash, stories about people who had refused to leave the area and lost their lives. Mostly, he remembered the footage of the volcano itself and how surprised he had been that anyone had survived that devastation.
"If the situation is that bad," Josh asked, with his hands on his hips, "why are you here on your own? Why the cloak-and-dagger stuff to get an appointment? Why hasn't the USGS contacted President Santos directly?"
Kaplan grimaced. "Because it's run by politicians, not scientists. No offense. Lyle Edmonds, the guy
Santos--"
"*President* Santos," Josh responded automatically.
"President Santos," Kaplan continued, "appointed a hack. He's more interested in looking good, in making sure no one wastes his time on technical matters he probably can't understand. He refused to look at my findings because I haven't gone through what he calls 'the proper channels.' I finally gave up trying to talk to him and decided my best bet was to contact the White House directly.
"Look, Mr. Lyman, I'm not the only person who believes we're headed for disaster here. Tob--*Bob*--said to tell you that I'm not a..."
Kaplan stopped speaking and began digging through the pockets of his jacket. Josh watched as the scientist produced a compass, an inhaler, two red pens and a ost-it note. Glancing at the note, Kaplan said, "I'm not a 'big block of cheese guy,' whatever the hell that means."
If Josh needed any more convincing that this man was Toby's friend, he had it right there.
"I can give you the names of three colleagues of mine who believe that an eruption is imminent," Kaplan said.
He'd have to bring in those guys and plenty of other experts, Josh thought. People who could read all
these graphs and make sense of them. People who could convince the President that Kaplan was correct. Josh shook his head, considering the sheer number of things he'd have to do in a relatively short period of time.
"You know how, back in the old days, coal miners used to take canaries down into the pits with them?" Kaplan asked. "When the canary died, that meant there was too much methane gas in the mine and it was time to get the hell out of there. Well, this—" Kaplan waved a hand in the direction of the charts on Josh's desk. "This is the canary in the coal mine. Mount St. Helens *is* going to erupt. If my predictions are correct, you have 72 hours to get people out of danger."
FADE TO BLACK