Twenty months later ...

The elevator on the newsroom floor of the Post pinged; then the door slid open for the Fearless Four reporters, as they had been dubbed, to exit. They were greeted with banners, streamers, and shouts of "Welcome home!" Leading the boisterous crowd was the owner of the Post, Countess Anna de Silva, who hugged the weary reporters one after the other and whispered her own personal greeting in their ears.

A mini-buffet and a table full of assorted beverages beckoned. Ted, Espinosa, and Dennis headed in that direction; Maggie stayed behind, which could mean only one thing to Annie. When Maggie Spritzer, with her incredibly whacked-out metabolism, ignored food, it had to mean that she was truly tired to the bone. Or sick. Or even homicidal.

"I just want to go home, shower, cuddle with Hero, who probably thinks I abandoned him, and sleep for a week. Can I have a car service take me home, Annie? Otherwise, I am going to fall asleep standing up right here. I need to sleep for a week. A whole week."

"Anything you want, dear. Anything," Annie said, putting her arms around the red-eyed, frazzled reporter. "You all deserve the best the Post has to offer. You will all find a very nice bonus in your next paycheck by way of thanks."

"Just doing our jobs, Annie. Guess that means you're okay with the series on the shabby treatment of our veterans. I think we shamed the current administration to the point where they don't know what to do."

"When I read the last segment, I about went up in smoke. I had our lawyers go over it with a fine-tooth comb. They said we're spot on.

"Maggie, you know everything there is to know about me and know that I am no snob. But that man and I inhabit social and financial circles that, except for the Las Vegas casinos, are worlds apart. I did see that he was in the Babylon, once, and instructed Bert to comp him, a friendly gesture to a visiting fireman. But I also instructed Bert that under no circumstances was I going to meet with the Donald.

"The man has too much bluster for my tastes. I do, to be sure, admire the extent to which he has demonstrated an ability to accomplish his goals, though I am not sure I approve of some of the things he has done to get where he is today. Now, he does have a most beautiful wife. Third time is the charm, I suppose. That's about all I know of Mr. Donald Trump."

Maggie waved the comment aside. "Not a problem. All I said was that you were going to be calling on him and Warren Buffett to right this wrong that's being done to the men and women who give their lives for this country only to find themselves on the sidelines when they need help. I said you, you, Annie, would lead the charge and put your money where your mouth is. That's what people want to hear and see. They want to see action. What they don't want is meetings of committees that have to report to other committees that require more meetings. They want something now, not two years from now. Donald Trump says the same thing, and so does Buffett. And with Trump's presidential candidacy looming, there is no way he can back away from this once he gets started. It would look way too bad to his supporters. You will take their calls when they call, right?"

"My dear, I will run to meet them. I haven't exactly been sitting here idle while we waited for you all to get back. I've had my people calling all over the country for vacant buildings and recruiting doctors and nurses to help us out. We're going for a banner every single day in the paper. I won't rest until the White House is front and center on this. I don't give a fiddler's fart whose toes I step on. This political correctness has run its course, as far as I'm concerned. I even called Lizzie to ask her to check around for the biggest and best-known lawyers to join our cause. This country's warriors deserve the best of us all. Now, run along, dear. A car is waiting outside to take you home."

Annie offered up a bone-crushing hug, then walked Maggie to the elevator. "Don't come back till you're ready! That means next week!" she called as the elevator doors closed.

Annie turned to see Ted, Espinosa, and Dennis walking toward her, plates of food in their hands.

"You did good, boys. Real good. I'm proud of you. A month on the road, crisscrossing the country, and those wonderful interviews entitle you to as much time off as you need. You all made a difference. In case you don't know it, the paper and the media are calling you the Fearless Four. They tell me it's all Pulitzer material. Go home, children, and don't come back until you're ready. As I just told Maggie, that means next week. That's an order."

The boys nodded and Ted handed over his plate.

"I'm too tired to eat, Annie," Ted said. "You'll see me when you see me."

"Ditto," Espinosa said, also handing over his plate.

Annie looked at Dennis West, the youngest of the group, who was chewing on what looked like a shrimp egg roll. He held on to his plate.

"Before you leave, Dennis, I need to tell you that some young man has been trying to get in touch with you for the past two weeks. He's called the paper at least a few dozen times and even stopped by twice. He would never leave his name. If you check your extension, I think he left you some messages. Are you working on something? Is he a source or a snitch?" Annie asked curiously.

Dennis shook his head as he handed over his plate. "Nope. No clue. If he calls again, tell him I'm back and give him my cell-phone number. When he came by, did you see him?"

"No, but Adam in the mail room said he was a tall, really muscular guy. He also said the guy said it was urgent that he talk to you. Urgent, Dennis. Ian, our cub reporter, had a few meetings with him. Meaning he actually spoke to him."

"In this business, Annie, there is urgent, and then there is urgent. I'm going to sleep around the clock, and then I'll be back at my desk. This was a very nice homecoming. I wish I wasn't as tired as I am, so I could enjoy it more."

"Not a problem, dear. When we get notice of your Pulitzer, we'll really celebrate. Run along." Annie hugged the young reporter, wishing she had a son like Dennis West.

* * *

Dennis rolled out of bed three days after he'd returned to the small condo that he kept in town so he wouldn't face the long drive out to his mini-farm in McLean, Virginia, at the end of the long day. It was a one-bedroom, sparsely furnished and close to the Post.

It wasn't that he'd slept for seventy-two hours. He hadn't. He'd periodically woken, eaten, and gone back to bed. Now, though, he was wide awake, his sleep quota fulfilled. He yawned as he looked at the digital clock on the little table next to his bed. Eleven o'clock. Other than now, the last time he'd slept till eleven o'clock was five years ago, when he had a bad case of the flu.

"Up and at 'em, dude," Dennis muttered to himself as he headed to the bathroom and a steaming-hot shower. He looked in the mirror and gasped. He looked ugly enough to scare small children. Three days of facial stubble, his hair standing on end, his eyes caked with something he'd never experienced before glared back at him. His mouth tasted like the inside of his winter snow boots. For sure, he needed to get back to the land of the living and get on with whatever this new day held for him. He grinned when he wondered what people would think if they saw him as he looked at that...