Rules of the Game : A Novel

In an electrifying fiction debut, the editor of "The Washington Post" presents a novel of corruption and cover-ups at the highest levels of Washington politics, while also portraying the morally ambiguous ways in which the press, and Washington politics, really work.

Leonard Downie Jr. has been executive editor of The Washington Post since 1991, during which time its news staff has won twenty-five Pulitzer Prizes. His books include Justice Denied, The New Muckrakers, and The News About the News (with Robert G. Kaiser). He lives in Washington, D.C.

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1

It was a moment Sarah Page had been working toward ever since she first walked into theWashington Capitalnewsroom six summers earlier. Yet it felt as though she was being punished.

“I have rules,” Ron Jones, the political editor, was warning her. “And I expect you to follow them.”

Jones, a big, burly man, overwhelmed the little desk that separated them in his cramped, glass-walled office on the edge of the newsroom.

“Do I have to explain it all over again?” Sarah asked. She knew she had to keep her composure or miss this opportunity to move onto the national politics staff. She sat as tall as she could in a chair facing Jones.

“Of course not,” he told her, softening his tone. “And I’m not blaming you. Evans should’ve known better. He was an editor.”

“He wasn’t really my editor,” Sarah said. It was important that she not be seen as a victim, a naïve young woman seduced by her boss. She didn’t want special treatment.

“Investigative projects get pretty intense. At least this one did,” she said softly. “Is that why I’m being moved?”

“Hell, no,” said Jones. “I wouldn’t let the local staff dump anyone on me. I asked for you. You did good work on those lobbyists in Maryland.

“And you were tough but fair with the governor,” he added, “even though she’s a woman.”

Sarah hated being constantly reminded that politics was still mostly a man’s game. In Annapolis, the suggestive comments of leering legislators and dismissive slights by some of the veteran reporters had made it clear she would never be one of the boys. In the newsroom, she had faced the widespread assumption that male colleagues had the inside track to the national politics staff.

Before she could respond, Jones smiled knowingly, as though sharing an inside joke.

“C’mon, look at me,” he told her, spreading wide his huge arms. “Don’t you think people have always seen a big bad black man before thinking anything else? It’s only made me more aggressive. Sometimes, in this business, it helps to have a chip on your shoulder.”

Sarah thought about that for a moment.

“You think I do?”

“I know it’s a cliché,” Jones said, looking at her intently. “But I see a determined young woman fighting for respect. I also see something of an idealist, but we’ll cure you of that.”

Sarah saw herself as a fighter, too, but not necessarily an idealist. Her parents, who had grown up in the sixties and worked as reporters in Washington, had always talked about a sense of mission in journalism after Watergate. But that was before they switched to public relations and lobbying, where the money was.

“So why aren’t there more women on your staff?” she asked Jones.

“Fair question. I inherited these guys, and nobody ever leaves. So I asked for you the minute I heard they wanted to separate you and your editor friend.”

“Former friend,” Sarah shot back. “He dumped me.”

“Sounds like you’re still pissed.”

“I am. It’s all over the newsroom, for heaven’s sake. But I’m dealing with it. I just have no social life.”

“You don’t have to be a nun,” Jones told her. “But there’re no secrets in political reporting. So it’s not a good idea to fraternize on the beat.

“Some of my guys aren’t happy about you,” Jones added. “They don’t think you’ve had enough experience. And a couple of them are close to Evans. They resent your coming over here after what happened to him.”

“So you’re re

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